In between some houses, a weathered and broken bench
gives me new space in which to settle for awhile.
Dark trees, the ocean roaring like an animal breathing
in the night. I put the pack down, sunk in
the tall grasses on the side of the sandy slope.
This is my bed for just tonight, for a weary traveler
who's sometimes afraid of what may come out
from the darkness. I use a flashlight to poke through
the cobweb nestled beneath and between the corners
of a partially missing and partially decomposed board.
It's a delicate process, searching an almost invisible web
to make sure it has been abandoned or at least, for the moment,

unoccupied. The previous night William Fox
had given me the flat l.e.d. flashlight I use to inspect this
solitary salt-winded bench for any signs of life.
He gave it  to me right off his key chain and bought me
a hot bagel sandwich and tea (I ordered the same thing he gets),
we talked quietly about an ensuing adventure at Tiny's.

I had just gotten off the train--a two-day ride--and now
I was back in Portland after six months, April to October,
and ready to give birth to culture.

I knew I could call him up for a favor,
it would be no problem to stash a couple backpacks
in his apartment so I could leave that night on the bus
to the coast. To get some alone time at the hiker's camp
before I let everyone know I'm back--a place
away from Society, the City, the incessant Noise--
next to the Edge, the Corps of Discovery's Destination,
the Excitement, the Inner Life!

Here, now, it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust
to the dim light of the moon's reflection on the untouchable surface,
though so close, of the ocean, just a drop and a roll away.
When its prenatal music sings in my ears it's like I'm come home
to somewhere that had been held in secrecy from me
during my entire childhood