Come to the sign that says Seaview, 43 miles.
Roll down your window.
You'll drive the curving delta, where bird and reed
lift together their tremolo to your ear.
Their song disbands the cold. Let yourself
pull over.
                          Behind each rush-clad island,
Chinook too, fanning like wings.

It's not far back to the ocean, not far until
the tide will come to meet the fresh.
A gull turns in the air, your hair tangles itself
across your eyes and around your shoulders,
tangles until there is no getting out the wind.