I sat,
spliff lit like a tiny sun in my hand,
and looked up.

To the stars,
to the void,
to the hush that hums behind silence.

And I asked —

In all of this,
this chaos and order,
this pain and pulse…

Am I not all that?

Wasn’t I born of stars?
A flicker from the great ignition,
dressed in skin,
asking questions fire once whispered to stone?

I’m not watching the universe —
I’m remembering it.
Living it.
I am it.

And you —
you reading this —
you are too.

The emotions flowing from a nip on the paper.
Work as a connecting medium which carry profound meanings and contentment.
Sometimes flicker due to uncertainties.
Sometimes sheds due to overflow.
It is non toxic but can warp the things that can't be of no use.
Just a pigment which shows the real colours of life.

On a nameless lake
north of Nipigon
I saw a creature

up in the crown
of a burnt-out jack pine
watching me wonder:

should I go on, into the opening
cleared by the fire, or return?
I stayed at the edge,

half in the open,
afraid of a windigo;
I must have turned back

and paddled in,
over spruce bogs,
across Black Sturgeon Lake;

I must have come in,
tell me you saw me
come in.