Dennis Lake

Cutthroat trout slurp gnats on the surface 

of shoals reflecting the Telkwa Range’s

sloping shoulders, somewhere hidden 

there a remnant Caribou herd munch lichen. 

Two clouds hover above a loon’s eerie call.

Who could give language to this grandeur? 

What name could contain this sacrament? 

Difficult tasks beckon the brave.

A pioneering settler, a century ago, 

ignored first peoples, remained 

unpolluted by native tongues, beheld 

this place and thought "Dennis."

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The Drive to Telkwa

Merritt

Sun slouched upward:

a free-range yolk

over-easy in a dirty

rusted cast-iron pan.

Kamloops

Smoke from the interior

mingled amongst pine

and sage, tawny hills and

sometimes green valleys.

Valemount

The gas station clerk

said it’s always busy:

no gas either direction

a long ways. And there’s an A’W.

Mcbride

Mountains were marbled with snow,

like a python’s black-and-white self-portrait—

a transparent but ultimately unsuccessful

attempt to appear artistic.

Vanderhoof

Clouds like white corduroy

dissipated over leather-skinned

road workers. The slow-stop

binary waited for deconstruction.

Something Something Deep Love of Jesus

I asked if she was still reading

Infinite Jest—it’s the only thing

I know about my barista. She is.

I took my coffee and sat-down,

considered the day and worried

that would be my only conversation.

My mom asked me about a bank

account she set-up for my wedding.

I love my mom. I told her to leave it.

It’s good to be optimistic. Her text

tells me she laughed out loud.

Her text did not make me laugh.

I asked about what to do next.

I’d take any instruction: nap,

move to the Yukon, smile

at the next woman I pass.

My mind flipped between

an Eagles song I hate and

a hymn I forgot the words to.