Autumn rattles at the windows of the night, rips
leaves from looping trees, punches
gustily against the wall.
I waken to creaking roofbeams, peer
sightless into blacklit night. Nothing
to see, but everything that is is sounding:
such a rush and crash of waves on rocks;
the clothesline sings a one-note samba,
the chimney turns to didgeridoo.
Only the dog sleeps, silent, beside me.
If I open the door to let the poem in,
it can sleep all night on the bench by the fire and
I’ll return to bed to wake you, slipping
frigid feet behind your knees.
Copyright © Karin Cope. Originally published on the blog, Visible Poetry (October, 2017).
Karin Cope is a poet, sailor, photographer, scholar, rural activist, blogger and an Associate Professor at NSCAD University. Her publications include Passionate Collaborations: Learning to Live with Gertrude Stein, a poetry collection entitled What We’re Doing to Stay Afloat, and, since 2009, a photo/poetry blog entitled Visible Poetry: Aesthetic Acts in Progress. Recently in video, installation and performance as well as writing, Cope has been exploring a notion she calls “dimensional poetry,” or a poetry of vision, object, action and installation. Find her on Instagram & Twitter.