Portland, 2009
Rain racing down eaves of the bus
like hair winding its way behind your ears,
and the chatter of droplets cast
white blurs over the faces - this
is what transparency is,
a city stirring and groaning
under the pressure of decompressing clouds,
weep and weep again, droplets
that sheer with acceleration
throwing motes of rainbow
through the windshield. A woman
stumbles on board, and the driver
does not press for a transfer.
Here, it is warm; the rumbling of womb
over bridge, the plumes of fog,
the soothing greens. Here, buses stop
for the biker, wheels leaving a wake,
water water everywhere.
You were never perfect,
and that's why I stayed.
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