| SIGNAL FIRES The rain is mingling with light from the streetlamp and light from my window and soaking into the long animal grass. I know you cannot see these lights. I have put ten miles between us and the creeks, trees and hills. An entire world of separation. What will become of me? The night is useless, cold, and you are somewhere in the dark, in Santa Barbara, dreaming. The moon was rising out of Ojai when I left you and drove home. All the birds in El Estero were asleep. The moon is shining on the Channel now, and maybe shining on Fort Ross, the Russian cupolas and crosses flashing signals from the cliffs. A far and lonely place where the road makes love to gravity, clinging high above the rocks and pounding surf. My heart is dizzy like that road tonight. Narrow, slick and dangerous. I think of you then watch the sky until my breath returns. I walk the dog over the tracks and down to the bluffs, into a shroud of eucalyptus trees that watch the sea in anguish as it rises and falls. The sea does not care about me. I love you but the sea does not care. I need you but the sea is just rising and falling, so I will light a fire on the edge, and wait. |
| Poem Copyright 1998 by Kyle Kimberlin Photo 2001 by Kyle Kimberlin: Mission Santa Barbara |
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