11.26.17

We were standing on the red brick
ledge, near the grapevines, near
the barbecue defunct by rat shit
because I left out the chips again,
near the fireplace burning eucalyptus,
near the horses who bang on their
box stalls with hind legs, a sound like
gunfire in the evenings, near the creek,
near the mosquitos that orbit our heads
like molecules, near each other and across
from Ladyface, her big mouth swallowing the
sun, and what remained was a golden burn
like a halogen lamp beaming inside an orange
balloon, and the rest of the sky
like a pale blue wall on which popsicle
were melted. It is enough sometimes to be in your
presence, and to love the world, and nothing more.
Love it for what it offers us.
Love that its offerings are free,
by necessity, for we cannot pay
them back.

Written at 9:44 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.