Teaching in Old Hazelton II
For Dani

Every Wednesday the rolling highway
Fell past our feet. We told stories.
To pass the time we trawled; bringing
up fish bones and skeletal remnants.

September there was rain in
Sheets, torrents, mists
floating up from the Skeena.
Leveling the circuitous road
We became
surrounded by ancient water.

October left fingers of hoary frost
crawling up our spines as we
spoke of ghosts in the classroom
following us back down the road,
History in every inch of cold and damp.

During the long dark November
Evenings we slowed imperceptibly
Our voices rising and falling following
The older paths.

It was in December
when we broke through.
Crusts of snow to leave
offerings
on the frozen lake
that I realized;
Prayers are always,
in some manner,
Answered.