Poem -- "Ottawa"

The best time
To capture Ottawa
Is when the wee hours
Caress its pale gray stone
During early October
In between the wild contrast
Of its seasons

That's when
The gilt-burnished leaves
And brilliant lights so clean
Snap fast
Across the dark dish
Of its lull

So rural
So oddly rural
Its nights rustle
Like a country lane
Full of slapping leaves,
Smattering sounds,
Clapping against tires
Whistling in the damp hiss
Of space

And even Vanier
Makes me breathless
With the way light pools
In the junk space
Between its houses