the marvel of
flags aloft and
a thief’s mouth gnashing
atop the masthead
glimpsed from orbit
bombs mistaken for
flowers of love
navigating the anthills
will we ever
see the last
we hike through Muir amidst sequoia
and unsung bluebell.
lured by pounding Pacific, beached jellyfish
barefoot as clouds or scudding dreams.
as all roads slim to trails, as springs
to rivers, to oceans,
to saltless precipitate, firmly destabilized,
as cyclones ravaging the landscape
are wont to be.
Jay Passer‘s work has appeared in print and online periodicals and anthologies since 1988. He is the author of 12 collections of poetry and prose, most recently The Cineaste (Alien Buddha Press, 2021). Passer lives in San Francisco, the city of his birth.