It's ninety degrees in the shade back home
And September brings no relief I fear
From sweating and fretting, oh, no, let's go-
We'll be riding on the Rocky Mountaineer

Expecting the best, we heard the "All aboard!"
To the sound of bagpipes whining
Longing to see mountains, trees and streams
But it's for sighting of bears that I'm pining

The meals keep coming-no one stays hungry
With our hostess, Holliday, we haven't a care
By the end of the day we spied osprey, geese and ducks but
When pulling into Kamloops, no one had spotted a bear

A walkabout, then sleeping so deeply
Whisked back on board by our competent crew
I remembered my dream of a bear in a stream
With her cubs-how I wish it comes true

The Monashee Mountains are so peaceful
We spy snow-capped peaks from afar
The leaves on the trees changing gold and red
But rolling into Tumtum still no bear

Soon we crossed the Columbia River
Salmon tantalizing eagles for a bite
While passing through the town of Revelstoke
A family of bears-all plastic-came in sight

"Look out!" came a call from the front of the train
A signal to us who pulled up the rear
We "Red Line" passengers ready with cameras
A false alarm-no bear or moose is near

The Selkirk Mountains promise some glaciers
And Stonycreek Bridge is followed by lunch
The Kicking Horse River showed spirit it's true
But no bears will show up is my hunch

And so surely to see that elusive bear of my dreams
I'll just have to return come next year
Til then I will dream salmon-filled mountain streams
And the all-aboard call of the Rocky Mountaineer

Solemn hymns
kiss
cherry chimes
skiing
below orange
dreamsicle skies
Swiftly downhill
passing
snow covered pines
long for the serenity
left so far behind

As it happens I did not buy this book
of collected poems in St. John, New Brunswick or
Charlottetown, P.E.I.  I didn’t pick it up
in Yorkville on a long weekend in Toronto,
nor was I delighted to spot it in a window display
on a stop I didn’t make for coffee in Kamloops, B.C.  
No doubt Halifax has its share of bookstores,
none of which I’ve visited on the road
to North Sydney to catch the ferry to Newfoundland,
where one imagines happening upon a salt cured,
weather beaten mom and pop clinging to life
quayside in St. Johns.  
The border with sleep lies just up ahead
where soon I’ll be borne across
on thoughts of the boats of these poems
lifted on the rising tide of the U.S. dollar,  
Billy Collins buttoned up for the night
inside a tent pitched upon the calm seas
of my chest.

As it happens I did not buy this book
of collected poems in St. John, New Brunswick or
Charlottetown, P.E.I.  I didn’t pick it up in Yorkville
on a weekend spree in Toronto, nor was I delighted
to spot it in a window display when I stopped
for lunch in Kamloops, B.C.  
No doubt Halifax has its share of bookstores,
none of which I’ve visited on the road to North Sydney
to catch the ferry to Newfoundland,
where one could imagine happening upon
a salt cured, weather beaten mom and pop
clinging to life quayside in St. Johns.  
The border with sleep lies just up ahead
where soon I’ll be borne across
on thoughts of the boats of these poems
rising on the tide of the U.S. dollar,  
The Rain In Portugal a tent
rising and falling on my chest.

Rain, Steam and Speed-The Great Western Railway
(J. M. W. Turner)

Life between the rails
Price paid for rhythm
Working its way
Into the conversation we have
With the couple from Kamloops
Over drinks in the bar car
Elongated shadows of stem ware
Clocking snow white prairie  
Dotted with one stoplight words
Nothing more
Than a few boarded up syllables
Struggling vowels of a diner
Slash package store
Emphatic final
Consonants of grain elevators
Trailing off into long stretches of silence
Stealing glimpses of the future
On grand sweeping curves
While the past rifles
Our pockets on the perfect
Parallel track of the here and now.