It is a cold and steamy morning
Like a moist breath
Exhaled open-mouthed
Onto a window
And a finger traced across one time
To say ‘See? It’s all still out there’

The green slope
Above hotel rooms 200-211
Waves at me with branches
Of pine and oak and yellow-leaved mystery
And there is a hose, too
Wound in a sloppy coil over a rusty hook
Funny, because here it is always raining

I wonder bravely what would happen if I ventured up the slope
Took the well-kept gravel trail that
Curves to the left and maybe keeps going until it can see the ocean
And to the blue and red birdhouse
Whose porch has the best view of all


I think that if I were a bird
I would live there on the border
Where behind is plushy, photosynthesized green
And the view ahead is all blues, grays and whites
Of a crabby, crashing sea

It is a cold and steamy morning
As I sit in the window with the peeling white paint
And exhale
Then drag my finger through the cloud
Clear
See? It’s all still out there