Forgetting barren landscapes,
the vast deserts of the Southwest,
I head for home in three.
Three cold and grey, misty days
of late May in Portland town;
leaden skies pierced clear through
with explosions of color on the ground.
Blossoms unconcerned with human comfort
riot through streets,
spilling over onto sidewalks,
needing only space
in which to ramble.
Paradox surrounds me,
in city or in country;
in life as in death, whether noted or not.
Alone in its midst, I rally
to punctuations of light and dark,
tension and placidity;
scarcity and fecundity.
Embracing life on its own terms
allows me to love
even this chill as it penetrates my bones.
The imprint remaining may haunt
or be forgotten; the point being perspective
which, when cherished,
becomes my future.