Santa Ana's Breath

The grasses hum their Juicy Fruit gum scent—

a sticky sweetness riding on a hot breeze,

whispering memories of August days,

of sagebrush rubbed between young hands,

green buds crushed like secrets shared,

and laughter caught in the throat of afternoon.

The Santa Ana slips through ravines—

a quiet predator, tail flicking hair,

breathing on skin with warm claws,

a dry, dusty phantom stalking the hills,

pulling whispers from cracked chaparral,

pulling voices from deep inside the bones.

Crickets sing hollow legged symphonies,

their shivers paint rhythms on the night—

a lullaby spun in dry golden air,

pulling sleep beneath the restless stars,

while Mustang dreams remain tangled in sheets,

and I rise to wrestle dawn with words.

Amber’s eyes, a flame caught in wind—

curves like hillsides, confident, wild,

her gum shared like a secret kiss,

her drawings alive with colors unseen—

a panther chameleon blinking in light,

breathing life into the dullness of days.

The pool waits, cool and precise,

lap after lap, a measured dance—

while Priscilla’s golden hair flies high

from her lifeguard tower throne,

her question hanging like the fog:

“Where to next?” in Santa Ana’s breath.

And I remember the plains’ super bloom,

a cat of flowers prancing the hills,

while Bubble Gum Alley’s sticky ghosts

linger faint under rancid scents,

yet the wind always brings me back,

to the scent, the sound, the warmth, the story—

the Santa Ana’s breath in my soul.