Artwalk POETRY and ART

COLOUR IT GRANITE

My blood grew in the north,
spread out in the branches of a tree,
roots reaching rocks scored
by a northern glacier.

Bones of my bones
formed the low mounds
on a high hill, bottom
red mud of a lake and a river.

Here for eons
new beginnings,
unseen endings above
and below surfaces…
where
loons and dead logs float
on the lake and water lilies
plunge with their long stems,
sun on docked leaves,
jackpines
claw the sides of cliffs,
shout to the circling hawks,
the taloned firs.