lamb and pine cone press.

near redwater I can remember
the long bridge over
the north saskatchewan river
—how it looked with hoarfrost
every morning in your car
as though
at any moment
it would break and fall and sweep
its own concrete soul beneath
the curling green and white
to let the river become a boundary
again—
impassable

this christmas I wish I had
come back
to smell the smells
of alberta
—walk the bridge near redwater
to feel against my feet
the juggernaut all things carry
and the momentum
held by moving
for so long
without stopping