winter map of montreal (after josé oliver)

my dark apartment over a strip club, under its red-striped
awning the proprietor reading a day old post and mail.
corner of st. denis and rachel at the very spot, you tell yourself,
henry miller once courted a whore. now and then i set out
into the darkness in search of the spreading silence, the shellshock.
on the fire escapes i find plenty of metal on metal,
on the sandblasted facades of the jewelry boutiques plenty
of dust. collapsible windows in service of the short summer.
silent windows, like that other silence in the snow. here’s
an unnamed square, here a shut-up bus station,
dead-end alleys crammed with shrouded necks and chins.
or i invent biographies – cafeterias and dépanneurs,
backdrops for someone else’s undocumented drama.
neon signs in a forbidden though mundane tongue – sometimes i
escort a brother indian through the harbor district
after a short prayer in notre dame (surrendering reluctantly the
dollar and a half entry fee). i know there’s a blue light over
china. and jerusalem? who will transport this blue light there?
today was april. the skyline sank into the ribs of the snow.

copyright 2005 Chris Michalski
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