There was no place else to go
so I parked it in the spot reserved for
those
who have a history of violence
& waited as the tide rushed in
across the sand
No music yet the palm trees on
Beach Street seem to be
gearing up for a rendition of
“Hooray for Hollywood”
buried in a slice of cold ocean water
bite down release
burnt kelp, blue agave, morning glory
I know, I read it backwards
on hands & knees
beneath the display window
A
suntan neatly folded over the
balcony
of my heart
Silver
wrists & fog
drifting in on the wings of Chuang Tzu’s butterfly
as they affect a tropical storm
forming in the Pacific
south of Baja
&
the way shadows
fall against her cheek at sundown
as I excavate a smile
5:31 p.m. & the sun is like a turquoise ring
on a finger of fog
