Arriving in a land of snow
Windswept over
Royal grants
Stretching long
St. Lawrence shadows
Windrows
Across a barely gleaned
Young- dying day
I lock fingers
Ungloved and cracked
Wheeling toward the streets
Of Montreal
Slush frozen
Iron bridges
Thrown to breach
The floe -choked seaway
Shudder freshly
Over-salted
Pedestrian pilgrims
In single file
Lit by neon bars
And cash machines
Cold station sentinels
Silver- spired
In provincial congregation
Elbow by homeless
Riverfront silos
Vaulting awkwardly
Unconsecrated
What ever- bloody voyager
Shoed this mount
Frozen- footed
Mouth steaming
To drive another
Winter’s vane
Vapor- lit
The high steps
Of an outside foyer
Curve against ice
Jammed in pockets
I remember
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
