The hardened steel hammer’s head.
The body of the mute.
To be alive under the shade of a burdened branch
heavy with a million leaves.
The sun, the damned sun and its influences.
The sun-tanned leather.
The plastic skin.
The California dream.
On the first day of Autumn
the light breeze raises and bends back again
pressing the old red, white, and blue
against the border around a field of dreams.
Heading down the 118
the several hundred thousand people
I imagine each of us dying in an earthquake
mixed in with Star Wars license plates
the Mickey Mouse parents and children
and the NotW declarations