RAILS THROUGH PORTLAND
Rustling open the white plastic circus tents, horses
huddle under blankets, paw under bridges.
A bearded man sleeps with his bruised face pressed
to the stones along the tracks, hugging an old green coat.
Steel moves against steel, ten miles of graffiti.
Gulls flap over the steaming parking lots.
Clouds break like waves over the bucket
mouth bottom of the Willamette River.
Unexpected November morning sun paints shop
and yard and shipping container with chiming yellow light
that makes the trees stand straighter, makes the pigeons
wait.
