Kirkland Wetlands


The cormorant droops his wings to dry
perched on the wooden bones
of the old steamboat dock
whilst your detachable clothes
tumble in a spinning silver drum
blown by dessert wind.

The eagle from the pine’s tower
shrugs off the rain, stretches his wings
and skis across the heavens
whilst you blazing up the Interstate
swirling the concrete intersections
keep your space in a 2D sky.

The red winged blackbird chimes
then disgusted at his own prettiness
buzzes loud an ending to his tune,
your CD songs change interminably
where only you can hear
compressed in steel.

But when the sun unzips the clouds
the bullfrog basks among the reeds,
the garter snake curls into a dream
its yellow stripe wound round and round
as you will also curl when this day’s done
under a starless wooden sky

dreaming of another world
where robins are small
and there are no turtles
or musk-rats or beavers
and no going home
to a cold hotel.


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