Building the Boats
Yellow-lit beneath stretched
Skins, we play at bones,
Dig for ocher from clayey soil
To stain puffin bills for dance mitts.
They redly shake the sound of rain.
Downriver, cords of light hum,
Tobacco-smoked and hung
With salmon. Intervals of storm
Wash logs along the red-sanded
Shore before the tailings:
These you cut and steam,
Bend for frames.
Joan Kane
Posted over on Poetry Daily
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