Log Cabin Chronicles

Residue of Retreat


Dawn's light ascends
Above the skin-path in her dark hair,
Deepening leaping impressions,
Warming the wooden propeller.

Clear drops descend.
Racing to return,
Beneath the glide.

It cools her earth-worn feet,
Braced on the plastic prey in the bow.

She scoops,
The symptom of false indigene,
Proof of their short history here.
A wilderness experience.

It's their way.
Carving their names,
Dropping their refuse.
They pay well to touch the landscape.
She clears the land of their haunting.

Cheryl Cowtan studies and writes in Toronto

Home | Poetry Menu

Copyright © 2005 Cheryl Cowtan