You are pure seventies magic
In every time-creased photograph
A spectrum of browns; a moment washed in cognac
You would have loved it here
I can see you now–
Standing at the helm of the machine
Harassing its flippers,
bells ringing furiously as the score climbs
You would shake the beast!
Nearly defibrillating it on the spot
Reclaiming the glory of your Silver Ball days
I could not tease you apart from this place if I tried
Right now
The bay is more portal than place
I will let it take me anywhere other than
This moment
Whenever, whenever
I am standing in its wetlands
Eyes on a skyline,
strung from two bridges
Heart turning to overripe fruit
On days like these, it is treachery that
the eucalyptus, standing sentinel along the road
Is not native
And the mustard
(Swelling from every crack in the highways)
Was spread by Spanish missionaries
Does anything ever truly belong to us?
I just might believe in ghosts
Because I can imagine
Yours is right here
White ether steps on Shattuck
Wind that hurts the hollows of my ears
In the marina
I howl back,
quarreling over the mechanics of time and space
I refuse to believe that
You no longer exist
And
If you’re anywhere at all,
You must be right here