Portland

Oh arched land of a thousand bridges,
posing many ways
amorous arms reaching like zombies
over the grand expanse.
Calming the heartbeats of
the rooftop dwellers,
the common city folk.

Ruling the states with an
understated quota met easily,
and empty coolness,
frosty, effortless,
quintessentially misunderstood.

Oh city of a thousand memories.
Moments rolling out
like a factory's endless belt.
Newer each second,
pushing at the heels of the last.

Silent dusk drops.
Rain falls on the concrete roses.
People open their doors
to the new wave.

Oh city of a thousand hairs.
Growing longer every unmet hour.
Curling in the damp air.
Waiting on the train,
hiding in the storm drain,
notifying each identity
with a sharp reality
charmed by fate itself.

Oh city of real faces.
Unmasked, unmade,
plain and beautiful,
stark in their openess.

A walking place,
unmapped expanse of dark.
Beckoning doorways,
Only accesible at the
perfect light of noon.
Long fruitful days spent
challenging space itself.
Challenging urban realities.

Oh city of people,
oh city of aged brick,
oh city of travellers passing,
oh city of roses,
carry on home.