leaving seattle
The moon makes known every wave.
Looking out the car window
we see them as one, the
crests and valleys
illuminating faraway movement of water.
Sometimes we pass through tall trees
silent and dark they stand
witness to our departure.
And beyond them is Tahoma
a reminder and a memory
a purple blue gauze of dominion
stretching over many first and last lights,
its shadow following us
even behind the fortress of trees
behind landscape
behind wind.
Trees water moon mountain.
In this way the many familiar things
come under my eyes like new concepts.
How can I speak the inverted truths of leaving?
I remember the old table where
I took my first spoon of food,
where my sister’s lip was scarred and
where we held hands every night,
the mountain looking on.
My love blossoms like a wound and
old pain escapes, a bird.
They are the bright moon hanging over the sky
at day.
pura vida 
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