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Two man-made ponds
just outside of Brownsville / Halsey,
ducks afloat in fog
against a thousand baby pine
awaiting sun. I offer blood orange
to a stranger on the bus
who only moments ago
kissed his brother on the mouth.
I’ve hung with rough boys
long enough to know, I think to pray
beneath the steeple
of the First Presbyterian—
only because it is beautiful,
as he was. Later, passing through
Woodburn / Molalla,
a hawk in a tip top branch,
fields of young hazelnut,
a yellow house, an old metal barn,
miles of cattle grazing,
more mature trees rising up,
silhouettes against the mist
where dot after white
dot of sheep keep vigil—clouds
with blue sky barely visible,
breaking sun. Beyond Arndt Road,
just outside of Tualatin,
cherry blossoms bloom pink
and white on the same goddam tree.
Previously published online in Stone of Madness Press, December 2021.