Maple Report

Morning sky of rippled gauze
blue and gold like an upside-down ocean
rolling to the wind of distant storms, but surface-smooth.

I heard the trees whisper
though the air was still: news travels fast
along underground networks of root, fungus, sewer-pipe.

Whatever they knew
I had no time to listen, on my way
to work another day for the children of the city I love.

This weekend I'll get up
early and not collect the paper. I'll sit
on the porch, drink coffee and watch the Maple Report.

Later I'll walk the Marquam Trail and talk to ferns.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside