newport beach, california
never cloud home,
or murk-up the sure spots
where fishing rods can dangle,
then sink.
slow peace blazes trails,
when warm surfer contours
bob, and then throb-
like they could steam glass.
from the wordless depth of the pacific,
liquid blue fever dances
to a ferocious breakbeat
from her younger sister:
the waves kicking air above,
and their younger sibling still:
the panorama of dolphins
leaping across those juvenile waves
and echolocating their next
holy pod reunion.
a star was born, dark and moist,
when feline smiles lingered
under officious palm trees
like hungry dogs.
plus, the poetry of homeless
trinket makers
felt much less commodified,
not something to be bought and sold
on the feelgood auction block
of covetous hallmark sentiments.
