Nova Scotia -

willing, your fields blown soft

a setting sometime I’ll go

our pencil matks in

hatch-worn patterns

wool, weight forward to a long shore

We’re fortunate to have enough love

buried in the back yard

as once it was a palm of salt now

So more I know, an island

here come those wild races on

(The) best marbled, varied floors

but if we go a float by waiting here

soft then loud to glow above

tell me your fields are soft enough

to carry us in whole

march medicine’s prose for us

and we’re fast to keep it down.

told from

a warm spot

as shores go

a wise roam

told from

a warm spot

as shores go

a wise roam

told from

a warm spot

as shores go

a wise roam

told from

a warm spot

as shores go

a wise roam