When photographing land,

A corner of the view's enough

(Leaves and blossoms propaganda 

Hinting at the primal sough

On jacaranda, 

A glint of tile-blue skies

Sufficient to the truth,

To the barometric highs

Of distant youth), as

The smallest bit of earth is dappled

In the distant sheaves

Of endless grass, the scars

Of timeless nights unraveled

By banana leaves

And basilicas of stars,

Any Santa Ana

Holding all the bamboo fronds

That indolently hiss

And murmur over summer ponds, 

Each adolescent kiss

A draft that corresponds,

Like movies on demand,

To petty constellations

Which, born from ancient suns, 


And expand.


Rancho Santa Fe

November 20th and 21st, 2005