Marie Ponsot
Poetry
Bridegroom of the Blood
At the Botanical Gardens, University of British Columbia
Reading a Large Serving Dish
For My Old Self, at Notre-Dame de Paris: fluctuat nec mergitur
The mouths of her shadows are pursed by time
to suck sun-lit memories from the wood.
Freezing damp and candle-smut have raised
Evening the Ark
greener than Eden, a shock of bliss to see
just past the stew and suck of reeking waters,
the earth ate sunshine under the olive trees.