I hover up and over the traffic
rain on my face
leaning into the city lights
it’s something I’ve always remembered how to do
but usually forget
I find San Diego
a tiny bar filled with Brits
literati and minor pop stars
engaged in the great drama
of beer, tapas, and gossip
I sleep down the street, on a couch
and enjoy the attention
why do I have attention?
am I famous?
no, it’s just that I love being there
an eternal night
with people who mean no harm
even when they charge the bar
and threaten violence
everyone smiles
why all these British literati?
I ask a gentleman on the way to the airport
and he promises to find out
he has been wondering himself
the tapas are covered in all manner of condiments
I brought them in a large white plastic bag
I remember the woman who gave them to me
like an old warm witch
for my journey through the sky
I waited so long to take it
to be the silent messenger in the rain
lone spirit
guardian of the darkness
flying to my reunion