Loma Prieta*

(*I am visiting the land of tectonic fractures)


Dark hill, shape
Of a lumbering bear
Backlit at sunset.

The first time
I woke from a dream
Thinking it was the wind.

Another year
A parrot took wing
Amid tropical ruins.

Seven vultures met
Beside the road from Antigua
To Sta. Maria de Jesus.

Our digressions
Are waves along the faults
Branched like lightning.

We make serious inventories
Of loved ones.


Published by

Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner

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