"Of all our feelings the only one which really doesn't belong to us is hope. Hope belongs to life, it's life itself defending itself," Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch
A sprig of snipped wire falls at my feet.
My neighbor recites a litany of her past dogs.
There is a tight black place behind my eyelids.
I have a crazy longing for a cigarette.
In summer, Big Sur never sleeps.
A franchise of fire marks up the sky.
My lover is gone for six days a week.
He warned me about that.
I didn't listen, protected
in his arms from my alarm clock.
Why worry about something
when it doesn't rest upon the mantlepiece?
Better to take things as they come.
As time shortens, pine needles scratch at the air.
Only sing to me, Shekhinah.
Your Love pools in my heart.
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