The wind whispers like wings in a dream as a darker, more subdued idea of time takes hold, inside

Drifting past night stars, Ventura radio
& the turquoise narrative

I often think of the tear-stained pavement
of Todos Santos

but where I live it’s wall to wall ocean
thus to drift is character

& all them immensities of the sea
at dark of noon beneath your midnight sunburn

Only the tender caress of oblivion she said
can take the guesswork out of mercy