seriously.

beauty.

character.

moves east

we three lived in the little appartment building

tucked in the corner of duchess street. 

drank large pots of tea & spoke about

everything.

best times in cafes (victoria, 

montreal, vancouver), drinking

cafe au lait & drawing birthday cards,

playing writing games, (that one day

when the waiter fed us coffees & we sat

& sat for hours„,)

these two often bring out the best,

of each.

a house needs a centre. 

a kitchen table, round

which to gather, for hours.

share sips & bits

of this & that.

live on tops

of mountains. 

raise bees. grow kombucha. 

hand-made clothes.

hand-made music. 

& dance!

sometimes, it’s easy. 

same late-night cookie cravings, 

same lingering mornings,

over conversation & oatmeal.

or one likes to photograph. the other

better suited in front of a camera.

this is what happens.

bodies converge, with little music-

makers slung

over shoulders.

(here we caught them,

taking a break)

sandin graveyard. filled

by miners without families,

families who couldn’t

afford to bring their dead miner home. 

& japanese-canadians interned,

& then dead, before they went home. because

it was not a home. & those that lie here,

still —

she came back 

for a visit

& a coffee.

we had a birthday 

loop, round two lakes

pausing in the ghost town, the sun-

set, a hotspring’s cave, & dinner

(the only three in the diner). a toast

to fine birthdays.

a morning, just before the scattr’ing.

served with my best medicine. early light,

coffee&tea & waffles give a shimmer

to a day. a day when we were all — here.

doing what we do best. us.