Poem for salmon

Don't go to zoos.
Design in the nude.

I'm persuaded to switch,
to reorganize and replace

but the cover on the hillside
turns into an unstable tangle

and is no still life but
suggests reproduction,

some photographs,
anything you want to say.

Throwing the window open,
splitting the landscape in two,

aperture over the lake ice,
all winter's tracks out there.

I love this,, my land
and the work as much as you

but we are wasting the Caribou.
In the rhythm section

I heard the music of the spheres,
mouthpiece, inlet and outlet,

the shape of ancient foundations
and of things to come.

By the grace of man
protect and claim the land

from where salmon come.
Somebody flings a window open,

look what happens.
The painter who

transforms the land
puts the Cedars back.

Forbidden love, lush bush in the path,
salmon squirting through.