In the Mission District of San Francisco -- poinsettia. Stop walking and listen to the story. The man who is painting a small pink canvas in his driveway tells me the poinsettia was formerly the root above and migrated to a trunk next to to the original. He's lived there for 29 years and it flowers every year about this time. Walking is a banquet for the eyes and posies for the page. Keep walking. Keep looking down. Keep looking up. Keep a blank page & pen nearby.
Cosmic Rays
ReplyDeletethis fall as all others::
a tangy bite of something
and something not
there--
leaves?
details to decipher
and strings of ancestors wound around
the nail can upended
no more pontiacs
still the wild cat howls