I wrote on a Saturday, 

about my father and the world 

I imagined 
from the narrow–
from the unknown.
Our world is changing.
I look at houses filled with life
and everywhere we turned,
another window…
I couldn’t shut them fast enough
and all my worries swept out the bottom and then the top
of the barn door. 
Two pieces, thunder.
This wasn’t my life.
This wasn’t even my dream.
This was the next day,
combing through Portland 
the one thing
I can’t digress to,
plot out or forwardly speak to,
is the one thing I desperately need to–
The subtle invasion
 on Holgate.