Today I threw wide
those carved doors that hold
so many souvenirs.
The scent of sandal wood
filled the air and I thought
of you.
By tonight I will be in La Jolla
that marvel of constellations,
the air as salty as sea lions.
Nostalgia is taboo among the
honey cake dunes.
Maybe I will stay there forever
paint everything that flickers
and blooms.
I may not think of you at all.
