And one last poem from me, called "Sitting at Night
on the Front Porch."
There where I live in Laguna Beach,
out on a big steep canyon side and there's
a road that's almost a mile below,
where you can watch the car lights coming down.
I'm here on the dark porch, restyled in my mother's chair.
10:45 and no moon.
Below the house, car lights swing down on the canyon floor
to the sea.
In this, they resemble us dropping like match flames
through the great void under our feet.
In this, they resemble her burning and disappearing.
Everyone gone, and I'm here sizing the dark,
saving my mother's seat.