Again we found ourselves at the shoreline,among shards of shell and plastic,scrim of seaweed trapping my feet like a net.

Distance blurred detail, so all that was visible / in the mysterious vapour were armloads of sparkle / he hauled as if from the sea

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"...vocabularies / reduced to virus, vaccine, variants— / that dull emergency of the daily count."

With a closing line from Ted Hughes.

There was a fire in your former home, it was on the news. You brought me here, once, in my youth when nothing impressed me.

"Now you are looking up from the bottom of the lake. You are walking past the townhouses in April under the budding trees, and drowning."

Four poems by Vancouver Poet Laureate Evelyn Lau on love, life and death.

Four poems by Vancouver Poet Laureate Evelyn Lau on aging, aching and orthotics.

The Central American vacation was all-inclusive, but she brought her own guilt, just in case.