Last Holiday

Quebec December 1999
  Travel asks about itself.
Directions take us
and we direct less than we know.

   Snow drifting where
   picked up mobility,
   it seeds cold strategy
   Passing over
   too-fast Routes
   anyone fits
   this downdrift.

   No temperature.
strolling, we touch little guides
ice-charmed handrails, calls from doubled entrances,
and replicas of the first
warm a returned wanderer.

   the replicas are truly little -
   removed from place
   their Meaning transplanted, given to anyone.

        we find the
        last holiday

   so down a dune of snow
   children, not hurling themselves,
   just letting themselves,
   Letting Movement
   Ask them toward the river
   a Saint, which is constantly breaking.

the ground slips us
over it.
the wind pins our faces taut.

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