Portland, Oregon

 
 

by William Higgins

 

The line between

nature and soul

isnt manicured.

 

Its a wild hedgerow that splits cool dirt,

a tree through the window or the river that arches

 

like a spine

through the campus.

Mold runs across

 

crown moulding in the French room and mildew fills the air.

A bookshop grows a block long beneath the earth like a

 

magnificent Armillaria.

The line between nature

and soul isnt mani-

 

-cured, and denizens mine along that line. With a splayed compass

on a duster or bong shaped like a snake. I walk back

 

from night class between the creek and the green and am afraid

of a pair of sewed-on devil horns moving out from

 

behind the heavy elms.

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