after James Joyce

riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s,
swerve of shore to bend of bay —

I saw you.

Ankle-deep in the wake
of winter’s runoff

long legs
long torso

silo in solo

Dutchman on stilts
tower of night —

you could rearrange the stars.

In pale reserve
      the economy of night

you stood alone

invoked the wind
that opening riff —

gust of night
bloused in low tones.

I called your name
but you did not answer

looked a way,
a lone a last a loved a long the

Lenea Grace is the author of A Generous Latitude (ECW Press, 2018) and her work has appeared in The Walrus, The Malahat Review, The Fiddlehead, Best New Poets, and elsewhere. She lives in Gibsons, BC.

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