The sun rounds a fulcrum fixed
\nfar beyond the panes behind my head.
\nA rubber tree enters the flat latitudes<\/p>\n
winter solstice charts on the northern wall.
\nWarm rhomboids slip across my thighs.
\nLike an astronomer cat living in the big<\/p>\n
box humans imprison her within, I prefer
\nstretching out where cozy polyhedrons
\nlinger longest before they slide away.<\/p>\n
*** The sun rounds a fulcrum fixed far beyond the panes behind my head. A rubber tree enters the flat latitudes winter solstice charts on the northern wall. Warm rhomboids slip across my thighs. Like an astronomer cat living in the big box humans imprison her within, I prefer stretching out where cozy polyhedrons linger longest … <\/p>\n
\nThe imagery alone puts this in the set\u00a0of my Canadian poems, along with <\/em>Insomnia at Forty Below<\/a>, <\/em>Edge<\/a>, <\/em>Making Nothing Happen<\/a>, <\/em>North Hatley<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>May Snow<\/a>, and <\/em>53.5\u00ba N, 113.5\u00ba W<\/a>,\u00a0not to mention the translations from Qu\u00e9b\u00e9cois writers for the journal Ellipse, among them <\/em>Lozeau’s Azure<\/a>, and <\/em>Maple Leaves<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n