Member Rara Avis
Visiting Earth on a Guest Pass
A View From Palos Verdes
Pines wait here patient for the rains,
for sun and wind off the wide blue sea
and for us, above this scrub oak hill
where needles pile soft in the shade
and a lone dove, at home here, watches
from behind her little screen of leaves.
There was never a house, only pines,
but they build house enough. We look out
at sage and waves under a denim sky,
the carpet deep, with a few stones
scattered like chessmen after the game.
The breeze turns salt cool, soft as dovesong.
Our meadow is seasoned yellow, mustard flowers
sprung today, with fingers of last year’s dill.
Along the path below, a willow, incongruous
as the ropeswing that whirls us back and back,
winding a charm to turn us children for a moment,
while the lone gray dove, unused to all this fuss,
looks on behind her little screen of leaves.