Vast and lifeless
Imagine: it holds nothing, ever,
But its own damaged mass.
It travels alone
Bound to us
Like some old beaten dog
That won’t get too close.
But imagine also its absence
If it were to turn tail, rocket off:
The madness that would soon come
From six-hour days and nights
The flat brine of the sea
The endless and terrifying winds
The sun raging and twirling
Or skirting the arctic horizon.
Back on earth
Early autumn morning
It hung bloated and orange over the park.
A strange eye that I saw
And felt see inside me too.
And just as strangely it has stayed
Within me a few days now
Like an image from the remains of a dream
Which holds an unspoken understanding
I cannot explain:
That this too is a way to live.
Colin Robertson lives with his family in Montréal.
