Our two heads bent in conversation,
touches on shoulder, on the small
of backs. That daylight dance
we recognize from long years of practice.
Wrapped in veils of mist, or a favourite
sweater, worn but full of so much comfort.
Icicles
catch light, refract
crystal fire, glint
of frozen core
Tree, naked
with its leaves
shed in piles
around its feet
Voice over-
heard. Song
or sobs, both
strain the heart
Smoke, grey-white
against blue,
a straight slim
column rising from
a chimney
I’m
doing
dinner
dishes
laugh track
bleating downstairs
makes me want
to weep
Frances Boyle is an Ottawa
writer. Her books include the poetry collections Openwork and Limestone
(Frontenac House 2022) and Light-carved Passages (Doubleback Books 2024), as
well as Seeking Shade, a short story collection (2022), and Tower, a novella (2018).
Her debut novel, Skin Hunger, is forthcoming with Guernica Editions in 2026.
Recent and upcoming publications include work in Wild Roof Journal, The
Ex-Puritan, PRISM international, Ampersand, and The South Dakota Review. For
more, visit www.francesboyle.com/home
Photo by Curtis Perry