For three days tasting the Chinook
that blows in, melts ice, raises rivers.
When was the last winter the inside
became broken open in flood?
Almost every spring when the world
turns soft. But now when buds break
in the darkest part of year what secrets
will they reveal? Come to me when
the nights are longest. When the gravel
shifts coldly beneath each footstep
and the grey world waits to be re-
blanketed by snow. Take me inside
your hallows and haunts. The blue pocket
of current between the downed tree
and undercut bank. Find me when I
finally arrive home. With what rivers
and oceans the subterranean desire to
return closest to earth? To climb the rung
of each ladder upward, towards a means
and an ends and an untouched sky.
The vast untouchable spaces beyond.