For Alma Christie

When Portland is soaked wet with rain And the rivers overflow When soil washes away again And no sunset is aglow Do you climb the hill to DeMonteven And look with longing towards the cove Does your heart search trees and heaven Followig the cries of the wild wood dove When the Pouie blossoms falling Cover the meadows in gold At Mona on a quiet evening Does a longing grips the soul Will you walk to Golden Grove again The moon is asleep in an empty room Smile like a sheet and cover the pain The missing years are hungry with gloom Lewis ask me for you, and I just Could not reply, you vanished Like banana wharves full of dust Like drought in which men famished Like sugarcane lands swept away to make space For the new architecture that status boom A veneer in an economy of labor's disgrace Lewis spoke about you Alma in his gloom Shall I tell him I saw you last In that dress of gold, the same You seem to wear, as if to cast A spell, or to cover shame That all your dreams was but a wounded flight You cannot wipe like sweat that banana stain That memory of a softer, gentler night That longing in the heart sweet as a Portland rain It is the city's fault, my dear Enticing dreams from the bush Leaving the banana like fear Fraying us in the wild rush You were a better soul than we esteem I heard your kindness spoken to me The promise to pay for a withering dream The selfless gift of you honesty And yet for this you were abused Did you hear the hand repent The heart knew too late how it losed The better soil, the content Of truth, left wasted in the city's dark Gone, gone, all goodness gone Except the memory of your loving mark Upon Portland now and sun filled dawn