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Pleasant Hill, CA
1.
Civilization. Carpet of grass.
A few trees here and there for shade.
Beyond the iron fence, red-roofed apartments.
Who squared us off like this?
I knew someone
who lived in Guatemala.
Said that in his village
there were no right angles.
No separate plane
looking out on Nature.
2.
This block's been left, benign neglect,
the plowed-up earth abandoned.
Wildness has gotten in!
Unruly marsh grass rises by the creek.
Tree shapes range in fractile profusion,
many different kinds of statements —
oaks and willows, pines,
quaking aspens, walnuts, olives,
and many kinds I do not know.
Small, white morning glories
snake across dry furrows.
Yellow wildflowers, thistles,
and oleanders thrive,
and near the street a tall date palm's
large frond-arms wave and boast,
'This green is the nectar
at the heart of everything.
Tear the world open,
and this is the juice you'll find.
Go mad! Go mad to find it!
Max Reif
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Max Reif
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