Ballard Locks

I feel blackberries
summer dust and Puget Sound
vein through me. A goldfinch
deserts a thistle. Should I?

Wandering in the thicket, collecting
on the hill
I hold my breath; the trap
of green thorns
waits to close
at my slightest touch.

Scratched with summer sweat
Puget Sound slips salt
through Ballard Locks.
In Lake Washington, fresh water
is tinged with salt.
This is a  slow exchange.