Amherst Island Twilight

poem, poems, poetry

The fire burns hot,

Tangerine embers spit;

A heated conversation.


Two tall candles

Flicker upon the corpse of a tree.

A dancing phantom flame

On wet wax,

Mirrors of Charon’s shores.

We cremate the remains

In a ceremonial burial.

Toasting marshmallows and dark rum.

Never shedding a tear.


What will you do?

On this moonlit night?

While we tramp

Around this campfire light?


Gothic shadows dancing.

Projected by a tree that lived its 148 rings

On the shore of Lake Ontario.


Now the fire glows,

Crackling high

And the green grass cut low.

How sweet green floats on

The moonshine!


The moonshine!


The shattered shale beach,

The sheared and halved picnic table,

The unbarbered forest edge.


The willows,

Dangling their long tendrils

Of eucalyptus like leaves

Into the lapping tides.

The roots clinging to the bank

Like floss.



Holding a Nikon backwards.

The lens pointed blank in his face.

A cigarette pinched between the fuck you finger and the shutter finger.

Smoke signalling its pearl tendrils

Into a tensionless, star studded sky.


Above a flat, shimmering, lake.

Where the sun tucks its rays.

Crawling dreamily under the

Horizon like a comfortable cottage quilt.


I stand and skip rocks.

On the tensionless star-studded water.

The smooth flat rocks chirrup.

My thoughts carried with them

Into this setting sun.


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