Spruce Street, Berkeley
it is right that flowers
bloom purple and feel like cats,
that people are leaves drifting
downhill in morning fog.
Everyone came outside to see
the moon setting like a perfect
orange mouth tipped up to heaven.
Now the cars sleep against curbs.
If I write a letter,
how will I make it long enough?
There is a place to stand
where you can see so many lights
you forget you are one of them.