Untangling concession roads
from three o’clock shadows,
where the snow is up past my knees and drifting,
the edges of the afternoon
are sharper than
a quick breath in,
the blue and white
and leftover.

Once upon a time, when my dad and I drove across the country, we stopped off somewhere in Manitoba where the sky was enormous and there was a really old cemetery that I didn’t want to leave. He found one that reminded him of that cemetery out near where he lives – northeast of Toronto – and we drove out there, armed with cameras (and knitting)…