Ledum, Labrador Tea, saayumik.
A matted growth beneath the most shallow
depth of snow on record in all our winters.
Pausing upbluff from the edge of ice
I broke from branches leaves to pin
between my teeth and tongue
until warmed enough for their fragrant
oil to cleanse you from me.
Somewhere in a bank of fog
beyond the visible end of open water,
alleged hills were windfeathered—
drainages venous. In routes
along the shore forever slipping
under, I am reminded — in the city
one finds it simple to conceive nothing
but a system, and nothing but a world of men.