War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Lazarus 57

We were war crazy, Lazarus,
the eve we slipped under the blanket
of winter Solstice. Angel choirs sang
‘O Holy Night’ in Saint Albert, & cornmeal snow
swish-chh’ed swish-chh’ed with every snow-shoe click
along the track we laid beside the frozen lake.

Elk Island was pregnant then with wolf-watch.
& we brewed espresso, ate grapes, dark chocolate,
laid traps for joy in the icy wake we made, as snow angels
we looked up, up, up at the black corbeau
circling, told us, the one lost in the desert, Andrew, was okay.

Wolves blinked cool and amber while the ancestors’
night-vision-green/sparkly fingertips stretched across the skies,
they, aurora borealis, looked down upon us, and blessedly smiled.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Lazarus 57. It was posted here on December 07, 2015.

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