Lonely Planet’s Guide to Love

Lonely Planet’s Guide to Love

A dream in the desert
alone while fires rage
and wood has splintered
one side wet to a cooling flame
flip for hot fuming coals
and hold my branch between clenched knees
the tip red and ready for tomorrow
will pierce the shore.

a two fingered slit to watch
the sun too bright to see
a view of blue of sand of crashing waves
of footprints
of your squint when you say nothing
into the empty morning.

And when I return to California 
I’ve fallen apart on a granite ledge
finally apart from the rest of us,

feel hot, a glowing Yosemite leap,
only to come back later to the foot of
a giant tree,

and blankets of green moss
to watch the sunset and think of you
slipping over the falls.


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