Ottawa's Festival of Ideas Since 1997

lost, found, gone

the wind blew against my face

nothing over my delicate dress of lace
the wind’s icy hands traced

my whole body
pine needles fell from crowns

ever so softly to the ground
when I found

a claret chimney
peeking over a shingled roof

even in its decaying shape
it still managed to release
a revitalizing essence

in my shooken state
I sidled through an aperture

the room I now stood in
gave me a feeling of nurture

wandered to the stove
stole a hot loaf

burned my palms

hands scalding hot
I sneaked back outside
found two trees resting on their side

dragged one by the trunk
deep into the hostile arms of the woods

lay underneath
counted some sheep

and soothed myself
to sleep