By Jan Zwicky

DEPARTURE AT DAWNBare rooms, the echo of white light.

The moon, I think,

Is a white sail of pain.
The answer isn’t love or furniture,

We’re always on the move.
A satellite a hundred miles up

Paces its slow curve. Landscape

Glides beneath it. Scars.
We are discussing the possibility of dedicating a session early in 2018 to the poetry of Jan Zwicky, probably combining it with the poetry of Lorna Crozier. Let us have your thoughts on this.


1 Comment

Filed under Poem

One response to “DEPARTURE AT DAWN

  1. Susan

    Great idea!

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