Surf the San Andreas
dreamed 2008/8/21 by Wayan.
1: the Gate of Trust
I wake predawn in a cabin near the beach.
I slip outside, goaded by an urge
behind my eyes, to find two looming gates.
One is high-security: spider-eyed
And the other? Silver driftwood
Americans! Right. A paranoid gate
whose sister welcomes all--
twin portals to the midnight sea.
But twin gates are our specialty
Now it seems they're fear and trust,
2: The Ship of Brick and Beer
Mad mansions cling to San
Francisco cliffs above the sea.
"Sacrilege" says my eco-purist brain
But a simpler me
says "pretty! See the Kremlin shimmer!"
Spiral golden onion domes
and spires Gaudi'd admire.
Next door, a great ship wades in surf,
A second stranded blocky ship--this time
Mid cliff-cottages we stroll,
"How noble I am, protecting all the bare-My song's a lie. Postmerdean art
Draws no one! We're alone out here.
My car wades in Crystal Springs
spang on the San Andreas Fault.
The road is flooded, nearly a foot;
The car awash, and slow.
Odd. Traces of an older road
The oaks say flood. The stones say drought.
The lake is both low and abrim!
Fault-tilt proof. Pacific Rim.
An old man glides across the silver eye
He's just a man of skill--
Bare feet grip the board; he angles in, until
He trails us, bearded, mirrored, mute.
These quaking lakeshores recurrently mean
the so-called waking world and dream.
We drove the dreamside; the old man sailed sailless
from awake to dreaming west, to mutely tail us.
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