Hills Near Livermore, California

Late afternoon winter sun casts long shadows

emphasizing the unevenness of the land.

The lonely water tank squats beneath a windmill,

the fence row a necklace

hanging on the dusky hillside.

Light catches, freezes,

outlines everything.

Sensual as any woman’s body,

the hills are alive here,

teasing, slow and lazy

breasts above the great belly of earth.

Friday, November 30, 1990