Analysis of mission

early morn on an overcast day
it oregoned at Mission Mill.

a slight mist that became a drizzle,
became a heavy sprinkle where observers would

seek shelter under mature trees
became drops forming a stream

stream becoming a silver water race downhill
under walkways and through gears

to western willamette and north to ocean.
oregon. the morning oregoned and I

fled the trees and the now-wet benches,
like ducks, i sought shelter on the banks

someplace apart from others but with a view
an antique porch - one that held personages, parsonages

school children who then farmed the valley
built wool mills and laid out paper;

they didn’t wait the water out, they used it
and kept it flowing – west, north, out

i sat next to may irises on the bank
and watched oregon flow pass, under 13th street

to flow pass university, hospital, city hall, library
in and out of ponds; it wouldn’t stay contained

as it wove woolen blankets and pressed paper
as it cooled children and housed ducks, herons,

observers. I could not stay ashore, I wanted
bare feet to follow it’s rills, slide under commute  traffic,

saddle spillways and watching bridges pass overhead
it had already left the forests, left the sky

it was sliding all over the ground, Oregon finding
rivulets and land folds, where it could pool.

i can’t let them bottle it up, pour it into plasticized forms
and ship it away; Oregon should never be contained.