I find myself perfectly perched
at the edge of an abyss
stepping out into a formless
mist of morning fog,
I find myself in love with
Portland, though she leaves me
in a veritable quandary wondering
which of her many bridges
leads to her heart.
I seem to have two hearts,
one from the future, flowing
back into the past like
a river, singing under bridges,
the other a secret spiral
involuting quietly toward the
long-glowing ember at its core
yearning to consume me
leaving nothing but ash.
Inwardly Nature calls me away
from the straight lines of
streets and houses and text
into the wilderness of the heart
and the high places of the desert,
mountains clothed in cloud and snow
patiently awaiting the blue sky
of revelation, open to heaven’s
quietly whispering stars.
Come away with me but leave
your city noises behind
for the others who like to
work and bustle and forget
the quiet voice of love
winding among the pines
dropping cones of remembrance
like a promise spiraling in time
unfolding our future home.