Far enough away to be considered faraway
is a land like this land, and as unalike.
The residents there are mostly human, partly.
The same sun, but the stars are different.
*Animals in this country are not allowed to exist.
If they exist, they’re not made privy to death.
When they die, nobody grieves for them.
*Lakes in this distant part of the world
are no wetter than our oceans. But vaster.
You can swim for miles and never meet yourself.
Under the green waves runs a black water;
water so bitter the lips pucker and pores clench.
Fishermen there complain about the legendary creatures
that never are caught or brought to the surface.
*In this land, the name of which is unpronounceable,
mountains are very mountainous and the weather changeable,
the forests teeming with life, but not as we think of it.
They have two other seasons we never experience.
some barely visible to the naked eye.
There are angels there in the form of farm girls.
Bewingèd bears. Gods no bigger than tulips.
Gentlemen, even the elderly spinsters there are
thought to be most beautiful.
Comets arrive in pairs and are of various colours.
Meteor showers fall as if a gentle rain.
And the moon. The moon is so large and bright
seers can read the ancient tracts without a lamp or candle.
Not on any map or in the mind of any mapmaker.
One may travel all their lives and never reach its borders.
You can’t get here from there, they’ll say.
You can’t get there.
Pushcart-nominee Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over 900 publications, including Poetry.com and The North American Review. His first book, The So-Called Sonnets, is available from the Silenced Press website or via Amazon books. To hear his music and view more poems, visit TheBruceMcRaeChannel on Youtube.