Poetry?

Maybe, but that’s a generous word when speaking of this stuff. Ah, what the hell. Here it is.

Bull River Poem

The freight train’s labored passing cross the valley left a hole

that the moon fell in, with the plink

of a fish having a late-night snack.

 

Gray Whale

I waited for you, Gray Whale

by the dunes and the Umqua River.

I pleaded audience in my Atlantic way while all round me

people spoke in Japanese and Californian,

people used to your Pacific presence.

And then again at Klamath

I climbed to look out far and wide

for a tell-tale breath that would signal your approval

but it was not to be.

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