cellular

cross-hatch sunrise (pink and orange
slashed into peach/yellow background) and
thin fog blanket draped
over fields (stawberries?)
whose rows go on forever
_______

this city is such a trip
i text from a bus
as it rolls across the bay bridge
through the financial district
along the wharf
navigating varied streams of
cyclists, pedestrians, cars, other busses, trucks, scooterists
moving past the stillness of parked/overstuffed grocery carts
and sometimes people curled up on the sidewalk
who could be napping but could also be unconsious
though everyone shifts past without
leaning down to check
_______

walking half a mile carrying
roughly 65 pounds of luggage (in three backpacks)
slow but steadily forward i move
squinting to catch glimpse
of each street sign until familiar
bryant reveals itself
some smiles exchanged and how i say
good morning to the woman sliding open
the metal gate of a salon

_______

trumpet player at
the top of bernal heights
bench-parked and
practicing to the
bumpy blanket spread out
below of houses on hills
_______

overheard atop bernal’s great green hill:

someone called in to report
a suspicious package
at 11th and mission which
turned out to be a box of body parts,
what the fuck, and then
they found a suitcase too

at the archery range
watched a hawk
swoop down and grab
a ground squirrel
_______

small backpack as a pillow
i arrange on the west-facing parkbench
after attempting to read pages of
mayodormo:chronicle of an acequia in northern new mexico
as the train-travel-little-sleep weariness
kicks in
slipping in and out of outdoor sleep
in sun-drenched air
under the sky that looks like a sea
_______

the pinch/sting of what
might be sunburn on my cheeks
but ends up, instead, being just a
cellular reawakening

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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