Updated "Ode to Kelowna"

Ode to Kelowna

1. It Doesn't Rain Here, Ever

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so the cedars you bought for your hedges all died
in May. They stand now like the terra cotta soldiers,
(only from a distance, with a quick glance.)
They look sad.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so these clouds are like ladies gathering gauzy
hems up around their knees so as to
never cover fields of grass
in morning frost.

It doesn't rain here, ever
and so my skin cries out for wetter air,
for home, and for somewhere
that I can taste the ocean
in the sky.

It doesn't rain here, ever.

2. Now

Now, I miss the closeness of hills
the comfort of a beginning and an end
well within sight. I miss what your long valley cradles.

Now, gone, I am torn between people and
places. Green bedrooms beckon
and I am unsure whether I want to look
upon those mountains or nestle in their arms.

Now I miss the dry winter nights
naked sky and frightening dark become
familiar and yet I love this current wet
and grey so opposite so equally
desired.

I left
and every time I go
back it's harder to return to this place.
The great ocean that holds such sway
over me does not have your
arms or words or compassion.

3. A Slow Descent on the Connector

I can only see one line on the pavement at a time
like small arrows
hurtling at me through the fog.
I am aware that I should be more afraid
of this shallowness of sight but
the road is familiar and too beautiful
to be terrifying.

The cold is disquieting
sudden and unexpectedly upsetting
the cocoon warmth of my truck stolen
by white

The clouds stay in the mountains
and I drop into the valley, around
a corner to the first glimpse of lake.
A final long sloping curve down to the water
and a bridge which carries me
home