Hamilton Bay

The maple trees
around Hamilton Bay
rust a consummate leisure.
Rank, polluted waters mimic
in reflection a city’s
easy tedium. Grey towers
stare back at themselves,
vacant eyes interred
in a looking glass.

I do not know why seasons
die before we savour them.
What answer satisfies two
who died and decompose
beneath the rotting leaves,
mongrels running here?

It maybe takes a death
to persevere, a death held
high to rouse nativity. Even
branches robbed of foliage
embrace with moist serenity
the blue of sky for leaves.

How she perseveres to die
like September and die again
I cannot tell. The sun
on her face, beside the bay,
steals thinking from my body
like a kiss.

(from the book "Bones to Bury")