Jan conn

The bull, the sheep, two white foxes
at the gates of the golden-orange spiral city.

Sky dark as cherries.
Doors open, doors close.
Between one tree and the next the bridge
sways with millions of leaf-cutting ants.
I bend down, catch snatches of dialogue.
On nearby islands, trees float, ablaze with red buds.

Emboldened, in my yellow scarf, I climb into a gondola. We circle
and circle the textured, sun-struck walls. Without enlightenment.
  Or rhapsody.
In the windows appear: a lizard, two quarreling spiders,
a luna moth preening in front of its mirror.
Spiral canals like nebulae, bursting with stars.

For this I have journeyed across mountains and plains,
broken-hearted, across green surging seas.
My gondola tilts. When I regain my footing
I’m inside a glass globe filled with white paper flakes.
The galaxy is shaking.

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May 1, 2018

Far Horizons
Award for Poetry

Aug 1, 2018

Constance Rooke Creative Nonfiction Prize

Nov 1, 2018

Open Season Awards

Feb 1, 2019

Long Poem Prize


P. K. Page: A Tribute


Palimpsest Press

PEN America Anthology

UVic Alumni Card