Poetry in Motion

 

I still have several earthcaches to log from a trip to Iceland, but I first thought about our stay in Portland.  There is a geocache near Powell’s Books called Poetry in Motion.  It asks that visitors add poetry to their log.

After finding the cache, I walked down the street to a nearby virtual.  It required that my name be written in paper.  I had nothing with me so I found a straw cover on the street.  On the way back I started to think about what poetry in motion might mean.

 

My Log

Poetry in motion
like a cache log blowing down the street.
Or something signed on a piece of torn paper.

Her coat was torn along the sleeve,
but she carried herself
as if the wind had signed her name.

Said she was waiting for a ride to anywhere,
anyplace that didn’t ask for her name
or remember her too well.

I had a rusted Toyota,
with a radio half broke,
but the song still came through
something about mercy,
something about going home.

They don’t write songs like that anymore.

She smiled and said,
“Yeah, that’s poetry in motion.”
Then she threw her bag in the back
and climbed in like she’d been there before.

We ended up on a Portland street.
Autumn hung in the area
evening light
could almost feel the rain coming
could breathe the air where the rivers never sleep,
where the poets plant their hearts.

Her hair full of static, eyes full of another life.
The city bent around her.

She found the back of an old parking ticket
writing something
quick notes
bursting like something that could not be contained.

I told her I used to write too,
back when the words were small enough
to fit inside me.
She smiled and said,
“Just live it.”
Then she was gone —
No look back
just poetry in motion.

And if you find a log written in tight words
that are about things that can’t be known —
it’s a voice that cracks when it hits the truth.
it’s the rhythm of forgiveness,
it’s the price you pay for soul.

You’ll know she was just passing through,
with a notebook in her hand
writing about poetry in motion.

11/09/2025