Calgary to Banff

The mountains we head toward are still far away, A scalloped rim of horizon scrawled by a child, Smudged by the oily brown of brushfire gone wild. The bus groans. This is not the way Into the melody but the sky has taken on A luminous green and a lavendar so achingly clear Our bodies might loosen and float in the thinning air; Gold pours into the mountain notch and the song Has been floating there - rise and fall, drawn Out of the body of the player, out of the mouth Of the wooden flute, a movement of breath. And now The hammered dulcimer, doubling up, down, Finishes as the face of the mountain looms, journey Half-done; the shadows ask what we have learned.

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