David Case



Couldn't Let Go of L.A

       (after Joni Mitchell)

Foggy, gray-blue lust of melancholy,
I must live everywhere to know you,
the canyons, Malibu, the arroyo, WeHo,
see every garden watered by the snow pack,
by the distant Colorado, through sprinklers
spattering the grounds as lush as courts
at Wimbledon before the serving starts

and even in deadly August the hope
of kindness from the cool ocean washing by
and bringing us the yellowtail, the fish
of heaven married to the sticky rice
of flooded earth in market after market,
a breaking in of presence to puzzle Heidegger,
who searched for exiled gods and found
a thing or two but thought the earth abandoned

yet everything is here, everything
comes to us in this good time.

 

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