Canoteur Poem by Philippe Gravel
Canoteur
Cheveux volants
Flottant, flottants,
De par les septentrionales aises
De l'avide amas blanc
L'Abitibi est ton préfet
Les orteils noirs de mocassins
Tanguent vers ton visage en bavette
Tu contemples au loin
La baie muette
Tu y poserais bien tes mains
Au long de ses socles de fémur
À ce récif conifère
Situé au fin fond
D'un décor fondant.
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: paganism
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5/5/2024 9:45:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
