Crone
This old girl has endured storm winds,
salt mist, another cycle of drought.
Time and termites have conspired to topple;
severely deformed, she still holds her ground.
Blackbirds and squirrels invade with impunity,
navigate sagging
limbs, explore bark and roots.
Her trunk bends from
dowager humps, spine
twisted, branches lopped
leaving silvery scars.
Recognizable landmark, she
clings to hillside,
Vista Point at Leffingwell Landing
Sun slides downhill toward ocean
as a ranch wagon drawn by
identical gold Percherons
clatters along motel row.
Seagulls and pelicans
ride cooling wind currents,
flaunt aerodynamics, glide
north above radiant beach.
Moonstones rim gilded
surf,
accentuate flaming sky,
invoke indigo nightfall
above burnished bay.
Lunacy
Swollen planet glows, silverplates
oak forest, floats above pine.
Crows and turkey vultures vanish.
Woodpeckers have called it a night.
Roof and walls seem claustrophobic.
Darkened patio, chill chaise beckon.
Supermoon awakens odd yearnings,
overwinds the imagination.
Cool sister, shadow doppelganger
of sun, slides across blackened heavens.
I'm into "sordid."
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