From an Island

From an Island

When the Seattle ferry works its way

past ancient island mountains, dense-branched trees

crowd the water’s edge, conceal the owl who flees

encroachments of the sawmill and won’t stay.

Back in Victoria, merchants meet and weigh

old gods’ commercial possibilities—

masks, totems, paintings, Indian novelties.

And the stink of wood pulp drifts across a bay.

Then distant islands darken; night comes, cold;

the ferry rocks against a gale’s hard blows.

Yet, on the deck, a blond thirteen-year-old

in earphones chants and dances, dressed in clothes

emblazoned with the Haida Indian moon,

invoking shore lights now, Seattle soon.