Seasons, the steady four,
are now layered, entangled.
To the bridge’s left, ships hover
in glacial water, a blue-lipped hue.
Love or bankruptcy, horizon’s lower eye
watches time’s suspension
a red-tailed hawk floats
above the bay’s reverse face,
tiny flowers burst
in yellow and orange flesh of lilies.
Monterey cypress lean into
everything all at once,
elegant drunkards.