Home of Serpents and Children
California.
Owner, old and watchful
Of the spikes risen from your cracked powders
And the waves sounded in falsehood
From the beat of the ground.
Known by
The skin of serpents
Ancient as your tale.
Aged as your love.
Guard of the footsteps
Left in dead
Dead or dead of night.
Protector.
The small feet
Of small fear
And futures of magnitude.
A risk
Necessary.
Not wise.
Watch them
Keep them in
Your loving arms,
The depth of your sun’s
Heartbeat, beat, beat, beat.
Keep us
As those who knew you not
But sought your beauty
At whatever the cost.
I’ll never forget you
My first love and home.
This poem is about:
Me
My community