70.

The clouds lie over the land near Avignon

The train sweeps over the green: I recall

That time when I barely moved and where I lived

Had a mythology, was a kind of novel

Of facts and hearsay. That place in Montreal

Has emptied out, transformed far more

Than any medieval French village,

Even if the villagers moved more than we once thought.

Perhaps I am looking for the ghosts

Of childhood friends, although I have never

Met any of them in stations, roadstops

Or airports anywhere. The girls from school —

Sheila, Bente, Josée, Debbie — have fled

Into a materiality of their own.