Laurelhurst Park

© Andrew Calhoun

Walk among fir trees
That circle the lagoon
That bends in reflection
The branches that edge it

Mallards paddle
Serenely hunting and pecking the water
There's a middle island
With a bold willow
Paused like a dancer
Over light and darker green bushes
And stands of last year's grass

He sat on a rock
When the tide was out
The sun had warmed it through
Before the clouds came
And it warmed him through in return
Something hurt in him, still.
Something that couldn't die
Without one last sob towards the infinite
And held in that pause
Is something urging birth


Six gulls
On the weedy rocks
Are waiting for garbage
Maybe,
From up the cottage.
I read four kinds of seaweed,
The tan/dark brown kind,
The one with smaller buds,
Two green kinds.
If I knew what someone had named them,
You might think I knew something.
There are ducks in the water.
Barnacles, snails.
Everybody's looking for lunch.