L'assassin menacé
As I hear the sun
rising over a painting of a woman
naked in a garden of cloth and weave
I think of how Magritte once saw
the sky as a rock
suspended over the grey sins
of oceans. Last night, my father touched
my hand and my bath brimmed over
into fairy tale - I shall not name
which one, for there was a plumber
at the door, and a rift between blood
and what could be. All gods
are dangerous, especially those
who cannot swim. Watch me
in my bath, listening
to the story of my years rising
as I swallow the stone.
First publication: Vintage Series, 1997
Prizewinner in League of Canadian
Poets' Competition
