March 2, 2004
Cabrillo Highway II
Somewhere, short of dusk,
we stopped over the dip of a hill,
got out and stood silent
on the warm, radiating, sanded asphalt,
salt breeze stinging our faces,
waiting by the oceanside of Cabrillo Highway
for the beige Volkswagon beetle,
long sight off,
still riding the last two crests,
to take up the slack.
Still later, a photo was taken,
black and white at sunset,
A simple frame,
hard to explain as anything
but three figures
rigidly, absolutely parallel
against the stark groundless sky,
laughing dead into the eye
that, behind the camera,
caught us, mid-leap,
at the giddy peak
where ascent turns to descent.
Afterward, there were only afterwards.
Once, we were there
and these damn photos keep on proving it,
year after year.
What else is there to say?