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Gary C. Gibson

A Portland Canal Fogbank

From the islands gathered like lambs in the shelter of the wind
the water ripples with a million concave mirrors for time
seeming like the breath of the dawn
laps on the aluminum hull brought down round Cape Fox
the night before; past the gold cross facing the orient
marking the spot where the fisherman had drowned
kelp rising to the surface a friendly, tenacious life holding fast
the sweet smell of cool salt water and fish beyond day...

Walking until the land has no more promise
the sea becomes the place of hope to stroll
many hours more to go rowing to Port Simpson
in this area I watched for the shoals
Prince Rupert and the road for bicycling lay beyond
Portland Canal
seems like the end of a journey and the beginning of their world
broken occupations and riding on bike handles backwards
peddling stories and ideas apposite
to Hollywood's immense power
of propaganda and global megalomaniac sales networks

[...] Read more

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