Poem/ Portolá

In the morning

ravens claim their usual branch-

They talk:

The opaque fog, the atmosphere the redwoods love,

We see it every day-

when

the garage door lifts:

Ah California!

It’s a quick march

for the would-be conquistadors,

our commute,

the view across the valley to San Bruno Mountain;

the cafe where we get pie

strawberry rhubarb pie!

Or northward, the morning window vision

hawk, Marin and

Monterey pine.

On Sweeney Ridge

on Skyline, you’ll find their site

beneath the parking lot on the crown of the ridge,

ocean at your feet

traffic roaring by:

…

(a california discovery poem from the box the bedroom floor every draft is a rough draft.)

A Historic Discovery

250 years ago the Portola expedition “discovered” San Francisco Bay, on this ridge in San Bruno, not far from Shari’s Cafe and Pies, where we discovered really good rhubarb pie.

This is the view they would’ve had, although here the bay is hidden by trees.

Ah California!

…

the view across the valley to San Bruno Mountain (when the fog lifts)

the cafe where we get pie

strawberry rhubarb pie!

On Sweeney Ridge

on Skyline, you’ll find their site

beneath the parking lot on the crown of the ridge,

ocean at your feet

traffic roaring by:

…

(a california discovery where all drafts are rough drafts.)

Bridge at the Gate

Here again, a bridge

geographically important in the sense of dreams

At its south tower

a waterfall over stones

and there, across marbled water

a vast brilliant pane of blue

the span in its simplest form,

an arc penciled in

not yet complete

the water barely covered our feet pacific ocean not yet filled in and

the bridge aloft above us like a sleek metallic bird in air span to span;

to see that, to climb and look over

to perhaps throw a stone

from this dream to the next

breathing adventure again

Into all those cells and molecules

cmon on kids let’s go

so I followed

jk

10/25/18