Shapes

North of the Manitoulin, the trees
Are black from lack of light
Just now, though the water’s hue
Is more like sliver, and seems

A source, not a reflector, of the
Light that carries colour
Without substance to the sky.

This ancient mix of shades brings
Shapes to-day that somehow are
Brand new, and owe their edges
Not to themselves, but to an

Adjacent other form, whose
Opposing colour makes possible
Perception of its own.

So may we meet in such a
Contiguity, whose boundaries
Are inventions, and whose
Bounds, though yet divisive

Illuminate, and make
Forever plain, the other.