Meet me at the lion’s head stairway,
gather your heart into your cupped hands,
light leaking from between your fingers.
Caution tape and crows line the playing field.
Behind Benton, the blooming prickly pear
cluster – a crowd of clowns waving you on to the carnival.
Hanukkah lights and a short, stout Christmas tree, covered with ornaments
that fat Frank mistakes for tennis balls.
Pink flamingos nest in the ferns and
the caged tomato vine clings to the bars and waits for spring.
Away at Cal, the sheared London plane trees clench their knuckles to the cold sky
while the carillon plays holy, holy, holy.
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