Sunset, Somewhere

Feral wind        whips waves hard across the shore

invisible pressure        seeing doesn’t matter

the terror is in the touch        a vase breaks

grass whistles        my hair blows into my mouth

a kindling        under unbearable California sun.

If the eye could see        a hammer drop

glide, bang, smash        through the atmosphere

clear as the trails of bees        as they float

brutes of the fallow        toward pollen

or like ghosts        (if you are a ghost

where do you visit tonight?)        with missing teeth

swimming        in the sky unseen.

The hammer        divides air as easy as death

alive and whatever-after        torn twins

those little human desires        muscle memory

my heart, beating        a small song

blood radio        that plays all night long:

I am alive        why aren’t you here.