December 2007

You could figure it as a trapdoor,
blur of hinge and
                         down
into the unconscious of this stranger
moving around your garden like a trap—
making all the greens unstable
as the warble of nausea come bang up to...

On Christmas Day, Kathleen and I
propel a raft with plastic spoons
through the hissing fur of surf,
             stirring as we go
             an Alka-Seltzer sun.

We pass Bolinas-Stinson School,
the fire house, and Smiley's dive;
extinguished geodesic...