Greg Beattie

From your big, free, beautiful flight
Arrow straight and jet high
You would stoop at night to honor our farm pond
Like dignitaries from an exotic, foreign land.
...

The pent-up sailors took Market Street
From warships months at sea
And the women from the warehouses
Poured out to their victory.
...

Three ancient Asian women
Take their morning stand in Walton Square
Moving slowly, silently
In ancestral, sunrise motions
...

Bless this nameless street
near Divisadero.
Its drizzle-watered window boxes
Its gay men tending tiny gardens and walking bulldogs
...

All is quiet in this room
Except your steady voice
And my light breath.
...

When I am far away I will remember
The weight on my chest of your falling hair
The oranges in the blue bowl and on your lips
The grace of your hand fastening, unfastening
...

Sweet-scented chartreuse dust
Rises from bales of alfalfa
As they are dropped from the flatbed
I, half man half goofball, twelve years in this world,
...