If truth exists...
If truth exists, if it resides in any place, it exists in barley ... and when the barley is in my fry pan. Give me barley, maybe some split peas, and if the water's good then let me have some fish too, and I will have truth. When my canoe is on the Georgian Bay and all the islands lay before my prow, when the sunsets speak of more tomorrows and the waves dance on the stones like Irish fairies, when in the stillness of the night Polaris is the last wink from eternity I see before I sleep ... I think of you.
When it is that I'm Alone
Soft, the breath of dawn across the land
Warm upon the marsh and forest glen
Touching, slowly touching, face and breast
Of sleeping fox and wren.
Sleep no more my paddle; take me home.
Wash your face beneath the forest lake.
Arch your back and shoulders to the rising sun
And twenty miles we'll make.
Silently the boughs of needled pine
Wakened by a vagrant breeze are drawn
Rhythmically across the face of mossy stone
To hide the still and sleeping doe and fawn.