• It's 4:00 A.M., and I'm clinging
    to three hours of party-peppered sleep.
    Raindrops against the bus window
    play metronome to smooth jazz
    and stuffy L.A. traffic. You always said that here,
    smog gripped the city; now I wish
    I could collect the light from passing cars
    and see it twinkle in your irises.
    I'd guide you through California fancy,
    lead you through sunny daydreams
    enkindling us in entwined, snakelike rays
    that melt our snow-adapted thoughts.