trees covered in moss

East of Portland we dream of standing on a footbridge
next to waterfalls hundreds of feet high
surrounded by soft spongy trees covered in thick moss,
"I love you," you feign.

A thousand miles from anywhere else,
and further from all the hopes I had for freedom and fresh air
I think back to the bright starlight hanging over the desert,
"I know you do," I lie.

East of Portland, we sing soft enough that no one can hear us
over the splashing roar of mother nature's pregnant belly

but what we're birthing,
I don't even suspect

though I admit,
I'm suspicious.