Columbia River

from the mouth of the Columbia River, at the Pacific Ocean





Traveling across the back of the high pine crested coastal range. Out of the rain and fog into brief stabs of sun under the tall forest. Lonely two lane road. I've driven so long I don't want to be driving again today; I'm tired, my body aches from sitting but working; but there's no other option. To see the ocean one last time before heading inland, back into the mountains, towards the prairies and home, you have to go out and come back.

bright sky, high winds,
brown pelicans over the waves—
gloom only inside



earth backbone spine
cresting and to brush against wave—
broken ribs, breathing





weathered cavities
in driftwood, wet with promise—
windows on a world