clouds hug the mountain top
morning chill

far below, near factory 
gates

clients scurry toward the store
eggs fry

in the corner coffee
writes 

this vision out window
toward

mountain wall where sunbeam comes
and goes, illuminating hidden canyons

then plunging back into
obscurity

this play of light lasting only seconds
a few breaths of shift from
gleaming yellow green
			to dark grey blue

only eyes can appreciate only tongues speak
only a window of corner store
				coffee
reveal
			see

wait
			here
comes another
			ray of sunlight

west beyond Kuchama
holy mountain		onto
			Otay peak
the broken
storm
		s h i n e s

streets are still wet
wind blows
			palm trees
			wave
cops and morning
busses			rattle by

wires stretch
empty steel framework
			abandoned skeleton
construction
			waits

under cloud, under sun
where your Mexican radio howls
el arte de hacer papas

eat well, amigo
			ya no estoy

I gone walking
			adios