Driving back down the coast, now. Gunned
for St. Anthony two days ago, chasing
Missed the big one by a week. Sea and sky
to meet, but look closer. Squint, they
– horizon is engagement made indefinite.
Staring at Labrador’s Southern shore,
we force small talk about weather,
how the car won’t heat up. Kidding
ourselves, we’ll try again next year. I
couldn’t tell up
from down. You’d take to the tent hours
hardly a word between us. I stood on the
slammed cans of Keith’s. Numb.
The few bergs left in the bay broke up
overnight. Pretending to sleep, we keened
our ears to their calving, Dragunov crack
and slow splash as each new piece
reasserted itself, got used to letting go.
At the Arches we stopped, stretched our
For a moment we stood together, watched
gnawing rock. Your thick green sweater
my heart as I leaned on the car, watched
comb the beach for nothing in particular