Eight A.M. below the University of San Diego, the blue sky leaks into a little pool in the Josephine Apartments. This is your poet speaking. Where are you? Look out. A monstrous WHAT roams about like a virus or zeppelin and catches you on your way. A heavy man with hairy legs walks by, having committed himself to the incongruous image of cowboy, and he wears blue shorts. A nervous woman drives to work from the parking lot, staring out from her Plymouth, with blue eyes. And these people are more beautiful than ridge upon ridge of blue mountains— and more misunderstandable and vast. These things have an effect. What do you live for? What do you say?

1 October 1982