Sunday, July 1, 2012

Standing at the Drop Edge of My Heart

for Pamela

The morning breaks clear mid-summer here
a small southwest swell lifting smooth & clean
waves of timeless silver-green glass
with brocade & collision insurance
seascape dioramas above which a cloud leans precipitous
pausing briefly in it’s glide southeast
(it’ll make the Arizona border by nightfall)
One long lonely call will crease the sky
a seagull clearing its throat
or the smaller more detailed
bell-like chatter of damp syllables at low tide
speaking in a language I will learn one day
& in the distance dimly lit Embarcaderos or Insurgentes
knocking in the rainy neon margins that situate
smoke halos I watched bend in your eyes
where vast karaoke machines are assembled for
recitations from The Greek Anthology
& a cool ocean breeze rattles the popsicle sticks
from a thousand summer vacations
reliquary & haunted no doubt in the sense I have of it now
as I climb the rotting concrete steps
up into the waking streets
to look for you