Salsa

Salsa on the San Diego freeway,

Syncopation past the Mormon church

I see dog-like seals flipped out on the beach,

I see crows on a sea-wall perch;

And out in heartbreak country

Where we come to fall in love with life,

The surfers gown themselves in waves

As topless cars glide by.

We’re tourists in this speech-thief land, 

where fog-washed mountains vault;

barely credulous in a paradise

where perfection floats over a fault.