Ours Poetica

[roadrunnertwice]

They say we don't have accents, that we
drift over an ocean of American sound without touching it,
that we walk on water, that we sink
like an anchorman
What they really mean, though they don't know it, is that we
have kept our secrets secret
and our signals slight
And yet can smell our own, that hint
of rain on the breath, of
fir boughs and salmonberry
stems.