How Does It Go?

It isn’t a question of whether words will come

It’s a question of how you want words to go




Burnt Storms

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Columbia River Gorge, January 2019.

More images can be found here.



West Fork, Multnomah Creek, Larch Mountain, January 2019

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Klickitat River, December 2018

More images can be found here.




More images can be found here.

Christmas Presence

Late, Christmas night, wandering past your home.

I see your face in the window, warm, buried in your phone, your lamps glow

There’s a fuzziness about your image


The trees, their winter arms angling for musty sky, starless.

The atmosphere’s full of their limbs, in your yard and everyone else’s,

black against the city’s sky, a silent collage


My hands wear soft gloves, wool, cotton, and oil, stretch to fit

move in the new climate’s coolness, a different kind of clear.

I’ve forgotten how many times I’ve touched bark, I take off one glove to text someone.


My boots can’t walk quietly through all these streets, so much pavement

as if we’re knocking down mountains exchanging them for vast networks of streets.

Your home, just one of many quiet ones, mostly dark.


Car tires sound like sticky tape peeled off a rough surface,

slide like sludge past your home, carrying kids with new Christmas presents.

I see their faces through the window, warm, aglow, buried into phones.


I wave to you as I walk by. You politely wave back.

We resume texting.


Forest Spirit

Forest Spirit, Klickitat River, December 2018

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