-1Portland, Oregon
Unfamiliar intersections
compose transcendentalism

the skies I remember most
are pale white lines

thin, and impartial to rain.

It is not that I don't care
for the sun; or it's sweltering

succulent blue, but I do not
trust it.

The Rose City, I am told,
unfolds its graffiti

residents stuccoed; (this
is not Seattle)

I do not know this place.
Driving becomes

winding, I am cursing,
lost, lights, tight corners

clouds pull the sky shut,
rain scorches window shield

drops resolve, then
back on track.

Ani Difranco poster
glued to a wall from

so many years ago, I laugh.

Later, driving back into
Washington the storm

gets so bad I have to pull
off the road.