From the deck outside rented sanctuary,
I watch purple fog banks, yellow skies,
horizon above ocean beginning to flame.
Silence, except an anxious, geriatric dog
who paces between kitchen and living room,
misses the familiar, whines in complaint.
I’ve arranged books, laptop, notepad,
poured a glass of pinot noir,
wait for the Cambria muse
to announce her presence,
welcome me with inspiration,
instigate a new poem.
What magic arises when home abandoned,
routines discarded, an exotic life
belonging to your fictional alter ego
tried on for a time?
I claim this oak sideboard as desk,
revel in technicolor sunset,
scribble as metaphors manifest.
Restless hounds finally settle and snore.
I wander a meandering trail above glittering ocean,
trudge through dry chaparral, reduced lava dust.
At cliff edge, twisted driftwood
forms a Middle Earth hobbit bench.
Cypress tree stumps, strategic boulders,
support a cedar plank seat.
Braided pew back frames blue sawtooth hills,
flawless azure sky, distant volcanic ridge.
Seductive throne for the hopeless scribbler
offers unfettered view of pelicans, terns.
Poetry writes itself. Morning walkers wave.
Kudzu effaces rotting stump remnants,
dangles from shaggy willows.
Stunted coastal deer sprint across winding road,
vanish behind vivid, overgrown scrim.
Between tangled limbs, glimpse of high morning fog.
Minutes later, the hidden herd is detected
by my leashed, bristling hound.
Distant rustling among verdant underbrush
piques attention, resurrects feral instinct.
An agitated squirrel scolds from jerking canopy,
but fails to distract from the hunt.
Mysteries simmer within unattainable jungle.
Faint trail, potential encounters
with something secretive, wild.
Curiosity beckons, tugs us aboard.