"Remind me again, why didn't we move here?"
My deep, slow sigh echoed his question.
Here, where the trees wear sequins and
all the stairs lead down to the sea.
The market bursts with the fragrance of flowers, pepper bouquets, and
the shine of coffee bean constellations.
Art bleeds out of every ware and shouts from high risen edifices
Defying the grey, graceful clouds.
People know who they are, or at least who they're pretending to be.
When light pushes through and the skies break into clear blue,
You see the swarms of hopeful souls
Under all their costumes.
Creation hovers and swims;
Seeps out her pores
Creeps in through her doors.
God watches--waiting, whispering.
Seattle, I love you.
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