Up in Parry Sound today, my father
had a heart attack — and it might have occurred
just when a woman remarked that as a girl
the beach here on Lake Erie panned out
nearly for miles, unlike these narrow days.
Everyday, it’s rained, mining out the red
and black stripes of iron on the shoreline,
and if there was any faith in sand,
we’d hope it would be a strength
to hold us here. As for myself, I want
to have another beer, to make sure
nothing else happens,
but even this ribboned vein of bookmark,
tailed to my notebook, has no place
that it can save, frenzied in the wind
and distracted by the pulse
of the sun-drenched surf.

ph, 3/7/17 Longpoint, Lake Erie, Canada