a Vancouver poem

Ok, I need some feedback on this poem, especially from Vancouverites... I'm presenting it as part of a project this weekend. This project is what I've been so busy with that I haven't been able to blog... along with the exam I'm writing tomorrow morning. Pray for me! More to come soon...
VANCOUVER MAKES ITSELF AT HOME IN ME

One day
when I wasn't
paying attention

I slid the red-soled freighters
over my feet and
plodded leisurely across the water

I felt the stroke of the sea on
my sandstrewn nape;
its tides scattered all my seastar freckles

my hair flowed down in cascading
tresses, coursing into the gutters and
drowning every sidewalk

my fingers crept up through the knuckled branches
of the catalpas lining tenth ave, hands
hardening inside gnarled mossgreen gloves

my back assumed the curve of the downtown skyline,
each gleaming building a glassy vertebra
slotted stepwise into my spine

I meandered through
the evergreen neverbrown of it
the mountainheight oceandepth of it
until it recognized me...

and
all at once
thousands of cherry blossoms
unfurled their blushing flags
across my face

A new poem for you

Snowfall, Nov. 27th 2006

Unsummoned,

the first wet flakes

drifted lazily through streetlight glow,

finding their rest on green hedges,

apparently oblivious to the

incongruity.

They whispered

in their descent: we are manna,

crumbs for starved souls;

and so they tugged at our threads and

drew us speechless from our homes

to be filled.

We forgot the cold,

swept out into a pale sea of grace.

The sky wrapped us gently in orange,

as the moonlight pooled

in our midnight angels of snow

and sand.

Rapt in unearthly glory,

we reluctantly returned inside; we nestled

‘round the extra log on the fire; the

final drops of some icy spell melted down

our faces, and we succumbed to

warm dreams,

while just beyond

the frostbitten panes, it fell

and mercilessly it fell

until the trees cried out

under the weight of God’s terrible beauty

and snapped.

My mother's rosary

elderly slow-lane ladies smile at her
in their usual saggy suits.
she savors it again-
eau de chlorine
with a quick wave to the lifeguard,
not even flinching,
she breaches the pool’s chilly skin

her toes taste the tile and grout
as she dons cap and goggles,
rinsing first to create a seal
pausing to gather resolve
maybe just 30 laps today
(it is, after all, early
and she didn’t sleep well)

then
much less ceremoniously
than Moses,
she parts the waters

hands carve liquid
sinuous curves learned ages ago
feet pound an amphibious pulse
elbow up head to the side inhale
awash in repetition

water spills and sprays, displaced,
twisting in smooth torpedoes
dashing over her every freckled facet
except her masked eyes
(wells of wisdom, brim-full)
though it tries
to cruise their creased corners,
etched by years of laughter

head down three strokes kick exhale
that is not what she is doing.
look again-
she is listening.

lap after lap
mile after mile
bead after bead
listening.
speaking.

and even now,
her underwater prayers
are keeping me afloat

happy belated birthday, mom
special thanks to Rachel for the photo (wish I had a swimming one)

I'd appreciate any feedback on this, any words you think I should change or things I should add/remove - I'm thinking of submitting it this week to a poetry collection at school.