shilshole
my commute winds behind industrial buildings:
gravel and construction sand,
canvas for sailboats.
there are murals on the backs
of some of the buildings, painted,
i suppose, for the truckers picking up loads.
i watched one progress
all summer long:
the ballard bridge opening
against a blue sky background.
there’s a huge red wall
with white and black tools
and a steel plate behind a chain link fence
is covered with dried out drops
from old painting projects;
turquoise and creamy taupe.
curbs and freight trains
graffitied with letters i can’t read
like runes rendered in black
and scrambled egg yellow.
walking to work, i keep
the sun rising over the blackberries on my left,
and the moon setting over salmon bay to my right.
