The bargain wine and complimented treats
were finished hours ago: the hotel’s gift
for our tenth anniversary. Now, as we shift
our bodies beneath borrowed cotton sheets,
could there be a better time to rehearse
the old arguments, those familiar friends?
Our fingers trace the scars, their beginnings and ends
then name the stories, ‘love’ and ‘hate’ and ‘worse.’
But here, things greater than ourselves surround
us—the river, the gorge, and a night sky
peopled with lights asking, ‘who are you?’ and ‘why?’
So we hold each other’s hands as the ground
beneath is carried off to sea and all is gone
and we think, ‘Roll On Columbia, Roll On.’