. I know Vancouver. I know how
to have a passport
qua marriage license; I know
the islets from the sky,
descending in sharp gray
to a land of indigenous masks
and rock-filled beach. I know
the stretched scope of UBC
at the tip of English Bay, the totem face
that gapes at thick midday clouds,
pregnant with 10-minute showers.
I know the marshland and the evergreens,
the nightlights of distant ski slopes,
the backbone ridge of near mountain peaks
where Nature views aloft with serene and
pleasant, magnanimous gaze, allowing us
a brief dip in pacific wading pools.
I have no prose for her,
none that wouldn’t disappoint.