Member Rara Avis
-waking one morning to the fog-
How many ghosts pressed their hands
Against my pane last night?
I wake in the morning to find
Their prints all over the glass' corners.
Were they trying to leave a message?
If so, they need a penmanship class.
Or maybe the smears themselves
Explain something I don't know.
Many tree leaves in California
Look more like ferns than leaves.
From wooden branches, little slivers fanning
On thin, thin branchlike stems.
In this current wet sullen weather,
They sop and droop and fall.
Drunken by too much refreshment,
They'd rather the sun give attention.
I don't dare drive on the freeway tonight,
So dark and wetly shining --
Like a coiled snake ready to whip straight,
Ants flying off its back.
There's already enough metal-glass faces,
Broken collisions on Fox11.
And the ghosts that left their prints on my pane
Cover headlights, working on windshields.