A Natural History of Macdonald’s Grove

We are not the world, the lofty corners. Intersections,
patterned trees. A patch of no particular form. Elegy,
pine-knots on a page, the day I made precision. Counts.
Turns desire, dime. What are you, distance. Near the
powdered florals. County roads. That only we have,
names. A secret covet. Dead men, plowed-under earth,
a folded letter, maps. Are made. What change is coming,
inch by corresponding mile. Under surface, whitens.

A dream of origins

At last you have seen

— Sandy Pool, Undark


How little, we
have to show for

the model of
not knowing

dream, and
where to lose

the placement of
a hinge


To remain, as often,
on the outside

a theory of
distinct states

conjunctive, scraped
across the coastal region

where our bodies
separate, distinct

a notion,

drowned, like

rob-250wBorn in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan is the author of more than twenty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections Songs for little sleep, (Obvious Epiphanies, 2012), grief notes: (BlazeVOX [books], 2012), A (short) history of l. (BuschekBooks, 2011), Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011) and kate street (Moira, 2011), and a second novel, missing persons (2009). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review, seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics, and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater. He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com