The Great Blue nearly hit the Honda's windshield,
lifting up from the Marsh Island side of the bridge,
lifting hard ― muscles showing under the dusty plumes.
I hit my brakes and nearly got a Humvee in my back seat.
Microsoft traffic, the Humvees, Land Rovers and
Lamborghinis. How we make stories, happy fantasies
of who we are and where we're going. Moon unit
to cross the Evergreen Point Floating Bridge every day.
Clear cold day, the Cascades slicing the sky.
Wind from the south breaking chop against the bridge,
the north side still as your best meditation.
How we think we know what we're building
― a link
from homes to the city. How soon it's bidirectional
and jammed both ways. But how it's really always
something else we make: shade for canoes,
oily runoff, noise, an emblem of the steel mind,
floating mind, anchored against the chop,
sheltering the calm.
