Two worlds have collided, she’s the sailboat
on Sunday afternoon to my Monday morning
barge, probably I cramp her style, even though
we’re floating in the same waters, two versions
of the same song, she points out, takes me along
as she arouses a dimming harbour with her tag,
her way to counter the putative normalcy of Canadian
conformity, not a musician, says she of herself
but a sound painter, when the wolf howls and the
pack answers it’s not the pitches, tempos or
rhythms it’s the timbres that colour you from
inside, and if you’re sufficiently unlocked,
change you, and it’s not about raising the volume,
she’s emphatic, saying the booster is the emotion,
while I try to recall if I’ve had one lately, two
worlds have collided and I’d follow her anywhere.