“the st. lawrence, purgin its waters submergin’ quebec city vergin on being the place we would go to find solace: a palette for sights, under lights, we’d converge in” a thousand fish were in the school, amid the pool of tides, that day, when all things gold could stay away from home & none was known to be a drag that weighted down the saddled bag of tricks the rider used to hunt the stag-, until the crow would caw to him or her when, overhead, the light grew dim. he saw the sand & piper bird[s] -sand’-bee[s] & fleas, on beaches’and-(s) of dune(s), amid the tunes of sands of time to scale and climb a wall of sand & storm the gates, before the fish(,)all (,)met their fates. the farmer’s kale was on a keel, & balanced to surpass the pale & find a means to catch the tuned composers’ kale & fishes tales   the butcher’s kale would never fail to place         her thumb upon the scale &; so, she’d cap the          sushi wrap; her hip would pop amid hip hop in   harbor garb or find a line to dance away to   see the sight: st. lawrence way. the sturgeon was urgin the muskie to merge in from right of the pike of the tide-wall-eye sight was in line to be fine, on the sea, so sublime &, the fish, on the main, try to flee from the pain of the gaff of the staff of the great river skiff.