The Measure

for Pamela

Out past the glass wall of thunder
in your veins
caressed by the half-forgotten shadow
of a palm tree

hauled away I guess too often
by the light & the waves

              I mean the streets

& the disinclination

                              a realignment of
              the flowers of Oaxaca

could tip the measure
when the sun is cut in two by the sea
& the Hollywooden pulse of
sunset recurring as in a loop with your eyes
like gulls wheeling above
a herd of nightshade appaloosas
the day that you were born