Voices.
We awaken to the swing of a rusty hinge
reluctantly moving swollen woods. Someone
pulls the rope of a two-stroke engine, instant purring
“ella esta loca…” Laughter. At least 3 men with you
today, while faraway women fill
your every thought.
I see your dimples and gold teeth shining
with eyes closed.
Imp.
present poems: small stones
Another North Beach day. Pending dusk,
revelers spill from bars, tourists
crowd menus. You ask about the eternal crane in the skyline near Columbus & Main. We look up-
Crane. Moon. Trans America building. A figure stands on an adjacent roof in gas mask and shorts, red scribbled text
“If at first you don’t succeed, call an airstrike.”
Banksy!
Writing in the moment- “small stones”
Music 
in the key of Wind.
The orchestra serenades
bringing the girl
from Ipanema all the way
across the salty
lake and through
my
Window.
c. Tara Linda
Small Stones- observations in the moment
On some days the Oakland Symphony rehearses on the gazebo of Lake Merritt, a few miles away. I remember this only when happening upon them when walking. Today, it’s very windy. Their music fills the house.
There
where small waves
roll & tease, we retrace steps
down to the cove
-remember when you found a ring?
there I point, 10 feet on.
Half embedded in wet sand
shiny on a shell, veiled by seaweed.
Surprised to see the ring
you wanted, you asked
-How…did this get here?
Now
you smile. -Maybe
there will be
another?
-No. Mermaids only visit once.
