an ottawa dawn

with respect i note to the south
our house is falling down
this north american house called liberty

on the deck in the almost dark
i watch seagulls from the ottawa river
careen, their wings white in the dawn’s early light
screeing as though the sleepers are dead fish

a lone crow takes exception
the reappearing noble crow
holds fast to the last shadow of night
fading with blackness into flight

and then the sky opens
as if the northern sun
can save us from loving

John Bart Gerald is a poet/journalist living in Montreal. He writes the website concerned with the prevention of genocide. Read other articles by J. B..