Highlands

I count my blessings in lemons

who could ever be jaded

among these citrus trees

with their swollen pomelos

perched on this butter wheat hill

where brown isn’t a color

but a geologic wave

I want to be as devoted as the

olive trees, clinging to the side

of the cliff, through wind & drought,

the century old dry heat rising

in my skull, only to find reprieve

from misty pacific love letters

just to be near you, the vastness of

our laughter as the sedan lurches

to a stop at a new lookout,

each sunset as devastating as the last

how one celestial body

can warm the earth golden