june morning.

the milky light
glows on the edge of the clouds
and gently shadows their bottoms
the near hills are green
the far hills are yellow
the sky is blue
and the streets are thick with shadow
              I rolled up my pants, and stepped into the fountain
              then walked across the grass
              carpeted with fallen jacaranda flowers
I walked on the sidewalk
waiting for my legs to dry
I walked home, 

                       squelching slightly
and the earth was hard beneath me
          the squirrels coil, poised--as if something was happening
          bound up the ledges and across the asphalt
          the winter storms drench the eucalyptus
and whip the palm
in summer, the sun burns white-hot
--so unwise to live
bounding, with the grass under your belly
             remember, nevertheless
             that you heard the wind whispering
and the simple joy of running
                   the cold sinks to the bone
                   the heat presses against your lungs
still, you might run
         we, the creatures of every season
                        live on what the wind
 has promised.