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.

***