Haze of blue
light turning white
right there on
the foam ledge
flower of
Michoacán
reminds me of
how warm the pavement could be
at night in
Ocean Park the summer of 1975
released on your
own recognizance…
“Do you know at
the offering of which libation
the waters
become endowed with a human voice
and rise and
speak?” (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad)
everything wet, trembling
waiting for you to make the next move
