Poetry: An Out-Of-Bounds SKIER Views The City At Night by Clark Cook
An Out-Of-Bounds SKIER Views The City At Night by Clark Cook
he was calm now basking almost
in the quiet of his slowing heart
blood sludging through
arteries cased in ice veins
narrowed to frigid tendrils
he had been sitting there for hours
he stared down at the splintered bone
poking through his ski pants
the pool of blood shadowed by fading light
no pain
no feeling
his crumpled legs and hips
owned now by the creeping cold
far below him spread out in the clear night
to the limits of sight
the lights of Vancouver blazed
a million vehicles hummed
artists painted
lovers caressed
women laughed
friends met
coats hung on pegs in heated rooms
he no longer remembered warmth
no longer felt the cold
he was one with the crusted snow
the increasing wind
the hollow echo as it swept through him
past him to the wolf’s yellow eyes
where he waited
a front paw on a blue ski glove
where it had flown as his body tumbled
over the cliff smashed on the rocks
now
this
bone-splintered
unmoving
heap
he could not remember his name
did not know where he was or why
could no longer see
the mountain spoke wind
a narrow echo weaving through him
hollowed a channel slowly towards his heart
no longer heard even the slow-sludge beat
could no longer hear the wind
no longer knew his body
blood locked in ice
mountain wanted him now
mountain wanted him now
his rigid body collapses slowly to the waiting ice
a warm yellow a puff of breath on his cheek
marble eyes stare empty at the glitter
of the city below
© clark cook Jan 2020
About the author:
Clark Cook talked about literature with Canadian university students for over 30 years, and was actually paid to have so much fun. Retired now, he writes (mostly) poetry and fiction (working on two novels). His poetry has been awarded three first-prizes in publishers’ competitions since 2014. Clark’s poetry weaves through the great myths, memories, and landscape on threads of image and metaphor to open potential new ways of Seeing for his readers. Maybe. If everything’s working. The poet and a son’s family co-occupy a home in the Vancouver area.
Read more poetry by Clark Cook: Alfred Went to War
