Back at it

I run down to Matador
looking for the trailhead.
I'm dreaming of cliffs,
the rocks jutting up
from the Pacific -
like they did in Capri. Paradise.

But it is a facsimile again.
And back in the barrio, the localbirds
copycat car alarms,
and the neighborhood Tom mews pleading
for love. For love. The least of us
pleading for love.

I am waiting for the inevitable racoon
now, or possum to break the night.
How they survive in this parking lot
I'll never know, and the coyotes are
beyond the beyond.

Should I tie it up?
I haven't written in a while.
The trailhead is not at the beach
(tho this be California). The trailhead
is here in Echo Park,
and on this page,
about to move again.