Blue Hills Poem by GRANT FRASER

Black cotton
stuck behind
toenails,
Which I'll get around toe! ,

and a photo I took out
at 'Blue Hills',
not 'Virginia'
with an aeroplane,
hovering amiably
between branches,

and now, the next day,
in between
reading translations
of Finiish Poetry,
I could be finnished too....

all but some other I took
of the woods
swooning above,
reflectively rustling above
the stagnancy

it's not happening...
what are you - when you are,
beginning to review mortality?

or contented when you catch
or turn something over,
and there's a snippet of life
existing quite naturally
underneath....

there's no ease though,
hanging onto contraptions,

as strangers make me
more and more nervous;

'I know there's never
enough, and we're all
caught there, pretending,
so that the dream - might implode! ',

though you'd actually think
I'm trying to climb above things,
not beneath...

that's why recollection
is waiting somewhere out there...

Helen taking photos
through a window of rock,
which I haven't even seen yet,

and the quick one I got,
though a bit under exposed,

damn it if I don't quite disappear
from the whole picture of where I am,

the best one for escape...