I
The Long Beach dew
turns Valley steam
before your heart
warms up
as this
one inside my chest
II
The Long Beach dew
is green
like those sharp hills
that guard Alaska
The calm white skies
of June
and the full bloom
of ancient trees
As I drive
cross the valleys
the Getty’s hill
Hollywood streets
unnoticed by the
Californian eyes
my mind does smile:
Something belongs to me
in Argentina
