Walking back from the White Salmon River
willows leaking moonlight.
“A man has to do what he’s told.”
I hear someone telling a child through an open window.

Behind the Pentecostal Church
a teenage couple parked with the motor running
move against each other
the monotonous cylinders of an old Buick.

Coming home through mine fields of winter squash
laughing to myself
I bring you a long yellow leaf.

I wanted to bring you the river.


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