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The Sun-Dropper’s Saga: A Poem
Vol. 1 (a pause to please)
Alive most before the sun rises, I wake with energy. I know I must leave my apartment now. Two stretches, one prayer, a spot of tea, and a kiss on Grace’s sleepy cheek—I’m gone.
The surfboard fits in the car. I ride a short guy, sleek, quality, the type that took me fourteen years of patience with the Pacific to earn.
It never gets that dark at night in the Bay (light pollution) so dawn in Oakland is especially bright. At this hour, though, it’s yet dark enough to feel sly. Quiet enough to feel alone.
Indeed, few draw wakeful breaths. Only the dawn patrollers, the commuters, blessed be the crazies surfing on a Monday morning.
Once I’ve reached the freeway, I have a better view of things. Stitching the city together are the pinks and purples and crystal starlight beginning to burst over the buildings. The dark silhouettes of palm trees, modest mountains, and two boastful bridges prancing across the sea.
I approach one of them. Yonder, cargo ships grasp for port. I think about how far they’ve sailed, how long they’ve been in the blue, and how many cigs the crew smoked along the way.
I’ve always liked bridges. Over and under, bridges, like fire, give and take. They permit a taste of the edge. Reminding all:
Life is also good.