In Oregon

In sullen Oregon rains
The brilliant pines awaken
They clasp their needles ever so tight
Like widows clasp flowers from lovers long dead

The roaring Pacific beckons to all types
Fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers
And sole pilots of fleshen vessels
The latter of which I am

The mighty ring bearers of molten fire
Bask in the silk of a new snow
While a thousand feet below
The moss creeps along its infinite path

The High Desert never cares to complain
That it lacks what the west is so freely given
How could the juniper trees and sagebrush
Long much for what they’ve rarely known?

Oh dear God, I find myself in Oregon!
Mountains possess me in their steely gaze
While sternness of fog and lingering clouds
Are reminders of twilights from back home

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