Ken Cathers as a B.A. from the University of Victoria and a M.A. from York University in Toronto. He has been published in numerous periodicals, anthologies as well as seven books of poetry, most recently Letters From the Old Country with Ekstasis Press.
He lives on Vancouver Island with his family in a small colony of trees.
your face a vowel shaped silence reflection drowning in dream I hold you under, want nothing but this inside screaming to stop hands clenched in complete focus the pulse, some part that watches unmoved. cold and far away
for Devon when you were born I held your tiny shrivelled feet with wonder look. I said, he’s been walking in the desert toes curled under, eyes clenched against the light fearless having already travelled such a long way to be here
for dick dale carve and turn, cutback across the white face of silence how the line appears before you, curls under, is the endless torque the ocean’s pull felt at the center the breath of what is lived into that moment before the wave breaks, the world falls off balance the light flawless some perfect grace approached and you know falling into it you know