Tonight the spruce reach up and tear the clouds
until their fragments rise
as smoke from a doused fire
as a gray peace settles over those I love
and those I don’t.
In these minutes between rain
and the easy sunshine
someone should bundle up our troubles
and toss them onto the deck of an ocean going boat
like that gill netter moving up channel.
They could do it from the Douglas Island Bridge
before the wind reunites the broken clouds