The Last gift for me....

The sun rises and fall, but if I don't take time for reflection then my life is a wisp, an artful paradox that blends into the day of blurriness, filtered nuances and unmarked times, metranome dialects and figures fading in and out of sight.  I am doing 2 jobs now, no time for reflection...

dreaming of my mother

being locked in a church

people in Duluth are in L.A.

people in L.A. are underground in Duluth

the heartbeat of the city rises and falls over the Lake Superior skyline

in Duluth, you have this sense of gravity as the ancient buildings overshadow you

in North Country, America is old and for-boding

the heaviness, the mining industry, the day laborers

creep along the sidewalks

some depend on the bus

the outlook gray and dismal

as the foggy rain lasts three extra weeks

I lost my inner timer and split ray of sunshine

I smell doom and incandescent mist rising from the fog

of the green ferns and new birch leaves

I am now in the wetlands of Esko 

as I drop of Cris

clouds fade to hills

glacial rocks and eskers

clouds mix to condensation

the sun rarely shines

people go inside

to read

and forget
Leif Erickson reminds them of their history.