Original Poetry

Portland, 2016

From a distance, this city was an idea.
A comedy sketch, a dream of the ‘90s,
a cowgirl’s dream—go west, and find—

Find what? The city was made up of not just
one unknown, but a collection of them,
which made its wavering meaning

somewhat more meaningful.

Now the city has a taste and touch. It’s no longer
a dream, but a wet bog of a layover.
I’m looking forward to the next city,

the next dream (a more solidified dream).
But I’m also not in a hurry to leave this
one. I have found so much here. I have 

found time to write, time to be, time to 
dream on. I dream on. I dream so much.


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