Friday, November 16, 2012

Radio Remix

The dripping fog greets another morning here in
Santa Cruz
                        although it could just as well be Papua, New Guinea
for all I know
                        The sun a pale neon memory submerged
in surging green-dark water
                                                I’ve seen flames the very same color
burning up out of the wet sand
            cormorants in their feathered robes huddled on the rocks
above tidepools edged in rust & Mexican turquoise

The clawhammer guitar curving against the wind
plays the tune you thought only you knew

            the music & commentary piped in through
speakers nailed to the graywhite sky

I may have been reaching out to you with two or more hands
at that very moment
                                    like a riddle that can only be told in Sanskrit
as 3, no check that, 4
                                    pelicans flying in formation
glide in low over the surf
                                                & disappear into the fog