Seattle, end of November

palid groans of gulls punctuate the silence of shipyards
above currents of prenatal ice blossoms in a bay

like unmixed wine in a frosted bowl

some crispy un-dry wintriness plagues Heaven with
filtered versions of bitter ink
green and blue and (if you squint) gray
water as little sister to imminent sky

colors can dance here, you know

a swollen city waxes out of the tide like
an all-American Aphrodite
shelves of books and the piss-poor attitude of
decaf coffee

on a napkin (which is the color of my kneecaps) I write a message to a loved one:
“there’s nothing at all keeping me here

that’s why im here.”


3 thoughts on “Seattle, end of November

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