Midnight in a cabin
below the waterline
waiting for the tide.
Montreal, you are still
to me an unknown city.
Only the vast dome of St. Joseph’s
Oratory opened its heart
while Bach echoed himself
on the heaven-resounding organ;
and from the vertiginous gallery
you, far city, your parks and river,
seemed cupped in the hand of God.
A billion summer prayers
written on leaves and flowers
quivered between your terrible snows.