By Peter Halstead

When photographing land,
A corner of the view’s enough
(Leaves and blossoms’ propaganda
Hinting at the primal sough
On jacaranda,
A glint of tile-blue skies
Sufficient to the truth,
To the barometric highs
Of distant youth), as
The smallest bit of earth is dappled
In the distant sheaves
Of endless grass, the scars
Of timeless nights unraveled
By banana leaves
And basilicas of stars,
Any Santa Ana
Holding all the bamboo fronds
That indolently hiss
And murmur over summer ponds,
Each adolescent kiss
A draft that corresponds,
Like movies on demand,
To petty constellations
Which, born from ancient suns,
And expand.

Rancho Santa Fe
November 20th & 21st, 2005