Away on the Wind

We biked all day
escaping Portland.

The gurgling river
kept track of us past

Swan Island, Ross Island, Toe Island
the proud silky geese standing guard

with their black faces and prizefighter’s chests
the amusement park lonely

singing itself a tinny song
that blew away on the wind.

We traveled through small
Midwestern towns

bright banners flying
antique stores mumbling the past.

Here is that mainstreet
you walked down once

on a yellow day in your childhood.
And here is the tiny café

I once spent three days in
eating through chocolate éclairs

licking the glossy gold custard
from the cracks in my knuckles.

The towns that kept us safe once
dissolve as the sun sets

and we drop hands, uncertain
what to trust

as the wind from the river
erases the breath from our tongues.