by a cacophonous dawn chorus of
nesting birds in imported palm trees
I sit red-eyed upon the roof terrace and watch
the solstice-day sun slowly rise
above the manicured canals of this Pacific Playland.
Carried aflame by the chariot of Helios
the Solar Impeller
wanders the bright wide Californian sky
alone without clouds
for hour upon hour after hour
before finally dipping behind the carousel
and sinking into the heart of the Santa Monica mountains.
The sand burns beautiful pink for a moment or more.
The bums begin to wake from their afternoon of slumber.
I've had days when I've felt
more out of my depth in a foreign land,
but not too many.
Thankfully, the stroll back to Venice along the boardwalk
helps put things back into some kind of vague perspective.
No comments:
Post a Comment