Million Dead Sasquatch
I had this beautiful idea
It hit me square between the eyes
But in scrabbling for a pen and paper I somehow slipped
and let it slide.
I gave up on these thoughts of a richer life
Put my back to the plough and stayed alive.
This year the soil is soft.
Next year the warmth will be lost.
This soil my bread and my peace.
I fought in the marshes
I heaved a cutlass up to my neck in this muddy iceflow.
We eked out a life from this frozen ground
We pitched our tents and we built a town.
If we had not believed we could live this way we would
not have encamped.
This soil my life and my love
The beautiful idea that settles upon my tongue and
eloquently melts.
But the ice will come again to these valleys and cover
all our farms and our dwellings.
The things you say are never written down and the songs
you sing will echo and drown.
