Goes away a long time

Comes back to think of it

The sky is how deep

Sun through Doug fir

Open up the throttle a little

 

This kind of rhyming goes back to the cave

Today only teenage girls can crawl through

Big rigs on the roads carrying nearly everything

Guy drags boxes on dolly down ramp

Early morning delivery

 

Smooth passage through the inner ear

Time with the lights on

Indolent instants on the boat of Ra

Hopping across islands in the Sound

Hear the mighty engine’s roar

 

Beginnings are numberless

An end leaves one gasping for air

You don’t have to do this

But you can’t do anything else

The occasional car, stops and turns

 

Families arrive from parts elsewhere

Science nudges the unknown

Two things from which men must avert their gaze

Death and the face of the sun

Day’s first erasure ripples the morning surface

 

They are looking for a cup of coffee

The flag flutters in a light breeze

All this is true but still

Meaning ekes out a living

The birds are more than happy to oblige

 

The voice has scales the locals know by ear

When you get to the harbor you are there

In the heat of the day

Time is something unexpected

Like a motorcyclist removing her helmet

Sticking up out of the water

Covered in fir, hemlock, cedar and pine

These islands

Wake with the sun

Where the continent breaks

Against the Northern Pacific

Without a word

 

Wind in the branches

The feel of it on the face

Elegaic intervals

Between sounds

Light on porch rails

Casting shadows

Even in advance

 

A landscape of calls

Very little to go on

As if waiting for a train of thought

Inner and outer realms

Coincide

If only for a moment

First boat out into the water

 

 

Bright red geraniums

A wake up call

For Mr. Loose and Unnecessary

 

Gather strength in batches

The idea goes one way

Awake, a walk in a field

 

Sessions in space

Kick off the covers

Neighborly glances

 

Situate yourself

For the ride across the sky

Sometimes it’s chilly

 

Boats tied up

To the dock

Like so many parenthetical asides

 

She and her dog

Down the road

Before breakfast

 

Leaves on the vine

The breeze makes quiver

Are models of flexibility

 

Let nothing happen for a while

And surely it will

Despite your best efforts

 

The thinking is

Clouds gather to west

A combination of elements

 

Near miss offshoot

Arrange the letters

A fortune in shipbuilding

 

The matter at hand

Neither here nor there

Compared to making a living

 

Imagine a concert

Convened every morning

Shorebirds of the Pacific rim

 

Plenty of energy

The turn to luggage

Time to pull up stakes

 

And there you have it

To have and to have not

Some like it hot

 

People moving about

You big lug

A sign of perpetual vacancy

 

Just let yourself in

Chill waters of delight

Family members on the pier

 

A light feeling of expectation

Stick to the plan

A breath of fresh air

Words in place of fingers

Sky in place of heart

Sound in place of memory

Whales in place of harmonicas

Liberals in place of precipices

Door in place of tree

Sensuality in place of remuneration

Number in place of color

Eyes in place of sea hawks

September in place of time

 

Inside the cave

Outside the bar

Whenever it suits you

Unless there is a fire

Until the last minute

Without being aware

Because of the noise

Under the circumstances

On top of the fridge

By the side of the road

 

Ceremonial embouchure

Leaseway tires

Probabilistic septuagenarians

Semi-automatic doubt

Consensual sacrifice

Inter-island plasticity

Roadside realism

Drowsy blandishments

Tonal arrival

Misbegotten hallelujah

 

Art is the last refuge of polygamists

Rail transport is the badminton of hungry ghosts

Sensitivity is the germ warfare of electric guitars

Language is the roulette of pacifism

Cinema is the cliff face of adolescence

Melancholy is the nasturtium of time

Outer space is the typewriter of misapprehension

Ostentation is the oatmeal of fellowship

Everyday life is the climate change of introspection

Horticulture is the guardian angel of sex

As darkness falls in the mountains

A dim glimmer of history slips the mind

Fog in the crotch between rises

Other side of the lake

 

Once a self-made man

Who started from scratch

Became governor

Then a shipbuilding empire

When the doctors warned he’d die of stress

He bought a large parcel on Orcas Island

Moved there with his family

Lived another 25 years

Ceding the land to the state

For use by the public

Building roads and bridges himself

When state funds proved inadequate

Until finally the National Park Service came through

Today you can stand at the top

A limestone tower at the summit

With a view of Mount Baker across the sound

 

Another a pioneering loner

Farmed on Whidbey Island

Commuted by boat to Port Townsend

Where he was postmaster general

Was killed and beheaded by Indians

In proxy retaliation

For the murder by whites of a tribal chief

 

Now the lake is almost entirely white

Fog reflected in its rain dimpled surface

Dark white

Or what you might call silver

Before the deep green shadows of the mountainsides

It’s the 40s again

Welcome back

 

Silent forms

Break into fugitive night

The caper drama

Squeezing between raindrops

A city is as its citizens make it

At street level

Or up in the air

 

Traffic patterns

A natural bridge

Icons of the light rail system

Connecting ramen

To Latin jazz

Where feet do the walking

And talk is entirely free

 

One step beyond anticipation

What happens matters

It shakes the whole body

Out of habit

And into intensity

One passionate doorway

Some special ground floor