LOS ANGELES

When the sky is clear and blue
and the sun is warm, strong, wrapping itself
like a blanket round my freckled shoulders,
I stop feeling hungry.

I’m a beast,
feline,
running across the desert,
muscles rippling under my skin,
searching for Home from ocean to ocean.
I find it where the palm trees hang high over my head.
I find it atop brown mountains, dusted
with Christmas green.
I see the whole world from where I stand.

I smell salt from the coast and thick, rich, milky coffee
and I feel awake and relaxed in my green-cracked haze.
I sink into the sun,
its warm breath on my back;
the lover that never leaves,
not here in my nest
of seventy two and sunny,
where the forecast is forever.