Uncle Ken dreams of returning to Oregon

centipedes and scarecrows,
chameleons and digitalis,
amanita, the drought’s across
the Bitterroots this month,
pungent grasses where the frost
has been taken, carpets, dead
vegetation thrown out the back
window, we left on someone
else’s driveway, the west is
calling every single one,
in their soul, the west wants
everyone treading its rocks,
escarps, wading pools, streams,
or drowning on the banks
of its ice-blue lakes, rush along
the creeks, the pines are
murmuring on Donner Pass—
get your ass back in the van
and go West.

10/14/06