To Sonoma

It's summer for once
during summer on the coast.
I'm taking the train
- San Jose to San Fransisco on track three:
they'll spoil us with Mountain View and
express stops where untamed sun tickles my arm,
skin, stained golden,
wheat voices of sunny excitement and
rumbles in the undertone of tongues missing the way things use-to-be
in-between rattles of baby bullet
crawling half-in-and-out of the shadows, I'm
restless with them because tomorrow will be Napa,
will be something new evoking old,
something stained red,
something to call old friends about
to tell them you still haven't forgot,
wish they were here.
it doesn't matter;
were moving fast and soon
I'll be moving on.

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