In Seattle,
Clouds storm the port
racing horses cross the sound and down again
Oregon takes them in
rust eats
I get a full night of sleep on a drunk stomach
The city swings from grey to greyer
Moody as a ghost
People have eyes as tired as anywhere
but I like them more
Cold bites the word home off my tongue and then my tongue itself is
gone
Steadily we take the state line
the Northwest licks itself all day like a cat in heat
Young men in sweatpants huddle, laugh
Seattle cleans up good
the men exchange money, tiny plastic balloons
Cargo ships sit thick, fallic in the bay
Clouds shower down on everything
and then they run away.