5.19.17

A moment:

high, pale sun

and breeze,

peering out,

you and I

at the lawn,

tiered hammocks

in the arms of fig trees

and bodies supine

on verdant grass,

chaperoned by buildings

the color of deep wounds,

deep copper, deep bronze

deep auburn, and deep brick,

an entire history caught

under our noses like scented wind,

while another formed before us,

between us. While another found

its way here.

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Written at 12:55 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA, while wanting so badly to sleep.