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​THE ALLEYS OF THE RISING SUN
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​

I’m crossing the open fields
off Mount Royal
Fletcher’s Field is under-foot
I woke with the sun breaking through
the leaves of the trees
on the terrace of the mountainside
where I live
It is mid-July
summer is setting in
the climate is ideal
for a vagabonding boy
living outside on a hillside
Morning is extremely solitary
only the call of the birds
to a vast empty park.
I have been living in this semi-wild
place
for ten years of every summer
Sometimes I tire of its familiarity
Other times I thank God for the
isolation
as my awareness remembers
the coagulation of
traffic and the madding crowds of the
boulevard
I am not different
from the ordinary man
I just cultivate a dream of nature that is
more unusual than the everyday dream.
Now the border arrives
in front of me
The adventure begins
From the mountain boy I change
to street gypsy just in crossing the
boulevard
into the downtown Montreal
Here I find the alleys
of the rising sun
through which I have walked
every morning sunrise for many years
dancing between the shadow of the
night
fading under the beam of the morning
sun
total joy in the anticipation of a new
day arising
I ignore the sorry condition of the
Backstreets
Focused on the chance glance of the
rising sun
to invite men into the hope it declares
I walk forward to a morning coffee and
My love that waits there