Port Angeles, Washington ~ Travis Truax


We have reached this place.

A continent’s end-stop
made whole.

Fir, cedar, the old Chinook wood.

Glacial water meets the ocean
all morning. Sand in our shoes,
soggy with a distant mountain’s gift.

A ship tells us
there are farther places

but we can’t believe it.

Beaten ridges break across
the sky above the Strait. Gulls,
the pier. The final corner

is a gesturing land. A hint.