אָדָם (Adam)
by Gord Sellar
woke to
dark; terrible noises–
wings crackling and
all birds in the world
fleeing my
approach
trees bear dark
slick of oil, heavy
on the fingers of branches:
standing silent, crowded
grey breathing light
from their pores
leaking
gliding pale through
shadow-murky figures
of sleep: then, cool thin strip of light,
scrutiny that splits forest open, from
shape into void; me;
itself
voices coming, echo
between high heavy dark
timbers; pale rowed descendants,
voices from her womb above,
moaning from topmost branches
— Saskatoon, 1997
February 10, 2012