Let me feel the wrinkles of your skin, match them to my own. Steel myself for another good-bye. The bones of the earth pull me under: coal ribs, copper clavicle, asbestos vertebrae. I take a gulp of air tinged teal. Forest fires kept me talking on screens instead of walking the waterfront, gazing at grey. This cool June forgets October’s violet pinks, Owl’s Head settling for the night. Sand churns to mud, loons to goslings. No ghost cries at dusk to shape my dreams. Tell me lake stories. What lurks beneath the skim of foam as pleasure boats head for the border? Mansions stare blankly. Lilies turn away, spread their leaves. I will speak beyond death in the dance of my son’s eyes. Une Quebecoise d’adoption, I am always there and here, circling blue with a yet-to-be darling, staring at green arm-in-arm with a friend. When young, love husked me to a bur. Now, I thank the world for you, for leaves furled as if cupping a baby’s skull, or crinkling silvery sage. I miss the trembling aspen. Les trembles tout tremblant quiver in my heart.