Male bear - leg 4. But for a cold breeze that blows. Th sun up th backs of mtns. not much of a sunrise. Just a pop of chilld light over th horizon. Behind th buildings and across th street, over th train. Tracks and around here in every direction. Th grassy hills roll upwards to become steep forests. That climb and climb up. To end in rock faces and snow-capd summits. Way th hell up there.

Slow down, all you peppermint haters. Some flowers open at night and sweat out weddings, filling the air with scents of satin and sentimentality. Singsong photographs of comet and cola. If these months are cinnamon hearts.

Sunday, January 10, 2010. Not feeling the difference but knowing choice just the same. Hazy sight, sticky smells, floating bodies suggesting chance. Hands reaching for the one you came with. The fashionably rough help with wet daydreams. Too intoxicated to stand but willing to offer temporary warmth. I meant to leave altogether.

Saturday, January 23, 2010. North of Quesnel, with steady hands. A lumberman falls another tree. With this wood he longs to build. A house, to warm it, stand upon its roof. And know the strength beneath him,. Shape a cane for when his back. Has weakened, a chair to sit in,. A table to work from. To carve a birdhouse from the. Smooth heartwood of these trees,. Whittle a family in perfect proportions,. Toys for the children, a night stand. One in each hand, if.