the fog-wrapped cold that smacks us as we
step out the door 8am to make our way
to the lightrail
_______
the sun on my face, the click of my boot soles
moving across northeast portland pavement,
familiar (42-year-old-self walking
where 26-year-old-self once did)
_______
steve and i laughing in the dining area at our spots
at the bar looking out the windows to patio picnic tables
where we perch and eat our breakfast buffet
and consider clowns as useful co-counseling teachers
and other antics
_______
the smell of daphne, a force pulling me
back after i pass it, jerking this body 180 degrees around
to revisit, to take in portland spring first smells
_______
the absolute sun brightness passing through
purple blooming crocus petals
this forest-turned-city finally giving way
to spring
_______
a single mandarin slice glowing
on light blue-grey speckled floor
of the blue line max train
under the seat in front of me
headed east
_______
the neon-brightness of tiny socks
pulled up onto birdie the 7monthed wonder’s feet –
orange and pink
________
the sidewalk and its buckles where trees
have sent their roots under
while we nightwalk
the alphabetically ordered streets
lovejoy
marshall
northrup
overton
pettygrove
through the neighborhoods that make the traffic sounds
of a few streets over
softer and quiet
detail collector 
