fresh houses–grey slate rooftops

red siding stands beside

a bushy evergreen,

Japanese Maple erupt bossy

crimson hues, the city blocks

stretch long–wait

–this is a city?

neighborhood sprawl conceals

the urban identity

of these quaint house rows

tucked in hillsides

arranged in grids,

small town, simple town

so laid back Seattle.

It might be ok that

these soggy grey clouds linger

that these folks don’t seem

so hip so gritty so out as ‘Frisco;

how about those forest greens spilling

between man-made structures

those snowcaps rising

behind skyscrapers

glassy lakes

lined with colored branches and houseboats?

And the smell–oh that smell! rich dense earth

so sweet my lungs swell, nourished,

and those Olympics! fog shrouded peaks

beyond the Sound, mysterious shapes beckoning,

their calls heard louder than downtown traffic.

this might just be that union, that perfect union

man’s makings, nature’s bounty

intertwined

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