Los Angeles

Winding Through The valleys

far from sleep and far from plains and never

until the sun takes his first wink and stretches to

wash across fields and hills to warm slopes to inch 

towards wakefulness and crossing the grapevine for

the double sink crowing the sightsoundsmells of

parching water and spice about masses of jam

summon the café con leche, the yóutiáo under the

painted sky brushing across strips of light tulle

shall let i the almond trees bloom their whites

and in still hours hint at sharp pines cold

waters the sawgrass and chaparral for waxing

in their fields of saplings in white sheeting like crosses

flapping in the wind.

i will neither blaspheme nor mourn:

let me walk these shimmering roads to

the giant who hung the moon, who

spun the stars, 

and oh my poor fond heart

let us lie—

this halo protects us, keeps in the light,

shields them, let us climb above. 

and so much spread below, light jams, who

wouldn’t want to grow like this? let’s wish on the two

stars, oh there’s orion, crane your neck, still sans nebula.

gentle light curves, gentle dimming, i’ll take my dress and twirl with you, see our lines,

let michael dim that star, wink it away, swing the spikes a bit. can we bite? can we yet

taste the pineapple on the spit?

having a coke with you is more fun than anything.

let us walk the star-road home, you and i—

Words: Stephen Yang