Sunday, January 12, 2014

On the Eve of the Year of the Green Wood Horse

Several possibilities come to mind.  Tack them to the Mexican voodoo shrine.  The Year of the Black Tar Horse, for example.  But the blue agave sky, no one voice can encompass or describe.  The rapid lid of the tide extends the thunder of hooves later translated by eucalyptus leaves & shipped by mule to 1211 Venice Blvd.  Estimated delivery date February 4, 1956. 

There was the bottle of tequila, not half empty nor half full, just half there, like the rest of us.  The light was golden & you could fold it up & take it with you when it was time to go.  Broken sea shells, yellow weeds, the rattling dead thistle.  Sun-dazzle.  The seething tide / wave-break foam.  Proteus to Kanaloa. 

The horse might have been an appaloosa but it was hard to tell because we were looking into the sun.  Several possibilities come to mind.  You leave them on the sand for someone else to find. Your heart is a framed portrait of the wind riding in on a southwest swell, I said, & your eyes are windows left open in the rain.