After Workshop, Late Fall
In Balboa, waiting for the ferry,
Mike and I dockside at coffee, Yusef
And Jones in the Volks with Elaine and Andy.
From the car’s AM, “I Can’t Help Myself”
Cut through the light smog, chased all our worries.
The waitress brought Mike a latté–half-caff.
An oil slick from a yacht or small dory
Spread rainbows on the water, an aleph
Curving towards us, a moment’s chance to see
What conjures it might bring—a map of stars,
An apparition in evening’s black coffee,
Jump-starts, a flicker from gods in palm trees
Wicking down to us like fire, in idling cars,
Blood moon on the channel’s blue sleeve of sea.