Alki
At your house, we welcomed storms,
whatever would roll off the gray sound
and come to rest at the toe,
eventually.
Through beads and colored glass
we could see those on wings
still rapid, not yet put down on paper
and it was to easy to imagine trapping then
on a long kite string.
Other neighborhoods don’t feel like this,
touching wooden boats and smelling like
the damp between the stones,
because other neighborhoods aren’t like this.
Even this neighborhood is no longer like this;
the longboat houses with crows nests
and portholes,
are all now replaced.
