HOH RIVER VALLEY

GREY MORNING LIKE THE HOH RIVER VALLEY GREY

last night the moon was unbelievably full and i slept alone

as the clouds raced by with 3 a.m. nightmares add to today's grey 

coffee in hand, i curl around the couch like fog and stare

eyes focused
the hum of the fridge, the clicking of the oven and the clock

keep a 20th c. profile
one foot rests inside the arch of the other like lovers

and i think of tongues traveling up my leg

today i will go to work and the day will be long

the sun lightens and i'm still drifting in the pacific northwest

the quality of rain on the hood canal made the trees seem even

more green there,
i waited it out in a day shelter with morning coffee

made on an electric stove that runs on dimes
rain comes in on all fours and the water licks the rocks
where i gathered oysters

the sun breaks like mendocino sunlight or monterey sunlight

mysterious rays filter through pine trees and illuminate carmel

fort bragg and here

grey too, this morning curls around crisp edges
of yesterday's intense heat. 

grey to block out the stars and last night's moon

i slept heavily, comforted by the presence of fog

i hated to awaken from sleep, my mind still in a nest of bed,

carves that sensation of relaxed skin, just loved skin
tingling as the blood flows through

grey cement, grey tin roof, day and the contemplative cat

stares at the sky. i reach for a warm cup of coffee.

the red pelargonium is deeper against the muted greys and greens,

against the weather-stained redwood fencing and cedar shingles

the biggest red cedar is on the olympic peninsula.
there's a shortage of red cedar.
not enough to keep up with the demand. i place

my hand on the trunk of that tree and feel its rough texture,
the camphor smell in my nostrils. sign says

the tree is worth so many millions of board feet.

better touch it while you can.

grey morning again. i wake to a sky of high fog. is it early

and i can't see the blue yet

or is it late and what's out there is fog again?

if I don't get out of bed now i'll be making love in my mind
for the rest of the morning. the rest of this morning
and many other mornings have been grey.
i sit here, heavy lidded, waiting to write, relaxed in an oak chair,
cushion for my ass, feet propped up on the only other chair i own,
and the cat is being a freaking past. he thinks he needs love,
and being a true marinite, he wants it all now,
and lays on my writing, stroking my pen with such tenderness.
Hell, we all want it all now. why won't the words come?

my mind rambles and i tell myself, did you know that quark
comes from Ulysses? quarks and outer space.
the sound of seagulls and the man sitting in a pub in dublin
drinking down his beer, quark, quark.

there are black holes in outer space and seagulls in LA cry smog, smog.

It is still grey morning in the fridge sounds like an air conditioner.

i think i'll have another cup of coffee. one is enough to get off.

sometimes it gives me the shakes, 2 cups have me positively shook.

and I wait for the words to come, for the grey to go.

7/9-25/1979