Flux
Cindy Rinne
Lost in Long Beach. Black pyramid
with eye at apex. Fountain ruins formed
a jagged star. Passed the same street
time and time and time and time
again. I climbed, slipped,
and grabbed the wire
to view the grasses, foothills,
and cumulus clouds through the V
of a smooth tree trunk.
It framed a season in flux. My legs
shredded and ripped like rags.
I sought tombstones of this city’s
founding fathers
mothers.
Wondered about the mothers. Mapped
directions by the
star and star and star
of Orion’s belt
waxed in pre-Sanskrit language.