A Little Closer to the Edge

It's National Poetry Month!
April
2016

so I wrote a little something.
__

A little closer to the edge
foggy tips sit on morning fingertips,
goosebumps fill her olive arms
in the Altamont Valley
where green hills - actually green -
coat the backdrop
as if an Irish bar will be placed
precariously at its base.

But like most mornings,
the haze will dissipate
and the climate will fluctuate
Philly sweats
then wears two sweaters
while Californians expect sunshine even
when it's January,
she saw cherry blossoms in
February.

Aching sounds, construction
won't falter because
change is on the horizon.
we are on the horizon,
the dogwood patches dance
in April breeze
but car engines
proclaim, "dominance."
we are constructed roads, build high rises -
maybe she is stuck in urban America.
the seasons bleed together
like the Bay meeting
the Pacific Ocean
waters are indistinguishable.
in all corners of land
I want to know if this if this
catastrophe is real,
and how fast will we
sink, sink, sink
maniacal laughs on
the news
contemplating our fate.

what is this panacea?
our progression is flawed.
but she doesn't imagine
humans stopping
- Newton's First Law.
we have constructed
to deconstruct
but she'll drink a
cool green smoothie
and close those green eyes
and imagine the tunes
of the blue birds
amplified,
to melt away
the realities.