1.
17 express to Diridon
station, the woman
in her high top shoes, steps
off the bus: smoke
rising from her nostrils
2.
You remind me
of a Russian solider
returning from war
with that
stern stare
of yours, wrinkles
forming beneath your
eyes
3.
Always wanted to
tell you that rock
is not solid—
it melts
and the redwood trees
fall
4.
like when that
woman, approaches that
man, they smile,
they laugh, and the
cigarette still crumbles
between her fingers
5.
Always assumed
that your eyes were
naturally plump and
round, like our earth:
Until later it was
found that they were
sagging,
drooping, perhaps
from the drugs.
Perhaps there was
a typhoon turning
in your eyes.
6.
I have lost
my
shadow; a cross country
ski through open
meadow layered with white
dust, laying here now,
buried in, a
fetal position. The wind
is gentle—rustling crisp
needles against the
black tree bark,
here,
our aura rises
7.
I am
approaching San Jose
and
I am
driving through
granite