He poured the night over our bodies like a rich salve,
God's long ladle dripping spots of darkness onto the Canadian sky.
It was crisp enough that night, I thought, to snow,
small eucharist falling.
After dinner we strolled through the city, formal coats,
leather shoes padding the streets back to the high-rise hotel.
We made love on the floor, our reflection in the window looking back,
looking out on the city sprawling twenty-four flights below.
From here one can see the cross on Mt. Royal,
back lit and distant the way all things holy once seemed.
Tomorrow we'll pass our bodies back over
to the borders and customs, the language we know.
Will we be in this place again? But tonight we were each others,
with a blanket and nothing more,
towering above this great provincial city.
I wonder, at this late hour, if the Cathedral bells still sing.
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Tell us what you think. Email talkback@pifmagazine.com
Bob McCranie is the editor of Red River Review and one of the founding
members of the Dallas Poets Community. Bob is the former editor of both
The Dallas Review and the UT-Dallas student journal, Sojourn.
In January
of 1994, Bob received his Master of Fine Arts in Writing from Vermont
College. He has recently published poetry in A&U - America's AIDS Magazine,
RFD, and MindPurge.
Bob won the 1992 John Z. Bennett Award for Poetry from the University of
Southwestern Louisiana.
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