Passage #43
Run 1
Hidden trail found
swoop around
swish
thwacks of springing
pine branches
chase me
down the wide-open, lost ski-trail.
Soughs of pine
gurgling snowmobiles
tchi-tchik POW-pow
grow closer.
At Thunder Mountain Skeet Range
deer languidly graze
amid the gunshots.
Shepherd Lake
frozen fast
a man
a woman
populate an ice-house.
From the top
I spy them
moving between tip-ups.
They wait.
They retreat
to their heated hut
(She will not return
tomorrow,
or ever.)
Run 2
I ski past
abandoned lift towers
rusted barbed-wire
overgrown closed-off terrain.
I must accept the conditions
the way they are–
the solitude and the clamor,
snowmobilers,
ice fishermen,
clay-shooting bachelors,
excited Boy Scouts
pulling sleds
for their Klondike Jamboree.
Après ski
Beyond this forgotten ski trail,–
peaceful
silent
almost holy,–
someone shot himself
at the gun range.
age, 30
after hours
not suspicious
cause,
hidden.
You must accept the conditions
the way they are.
