, a poetry anthology edited by Lorna Crozier and Patrick Lane and published by Harbour in 2004. After last call at three a.m. the sun
on the horizon like a giant lodestar
would guide us over uneven boardwalks and dirt roads
toward the George Black Ferry, across
the mud-fed Yukon River to where our hidden world
of tents lay inside a maze of birch,
where branches knocked and clacked in the wind
like the restless bones of ghosts,
where someone always screamed blue murder back
at the landlocked sled dogs as they cried
and howled at the lingering season
and stunning lack of darkness
inside the night. This was Dawson City
where we’d all come from something
vague: a town, a girl, a life.
Most had simply drifted into the ever-
widening space of summer’s north, hoping
to find work, hoping absence,
hard drinking and perpetual light could
wipe the slate clean: it seemed we were all young
enough to trust in the liberty of forgetfulness—
the days blurring without nights, drinking
sour toes with the tourists then
over-proof whisky at the Midnight Sun then
blackouts and waking beside the river
if not delighted, at least surprised
to be alive, soaked and numb.
Had it been a dream, strange-throated ravens
gargling in the trees like drowning men,
or just some lone person
weeping?
In the morning, no one could be sure.
Although I confess, one night
the first star appeared, an unsightly blemish
in the milky sky like a pinprick in the idea
of forever: fall was coming and I was afraid
to travel south, to move alone again,
and further toward the slowly diminishing
light.