We never did understand how that old pair of shoes

ended up in the bathroom; neither could we fathom

how our bed dropped like a rock, moments before

sunrise; and, although we knew perfectly well why

the moon turned red around midnight, we never really

explained our rattlesnake fear that the Pacific Ocean

would reclaim all points west of National Boulevard.
Our last source of air leaked out through bullet holes

in the plate glass windows; Gray Whales breached just

beyond the sandbars; Brown Pelicans squabbled over

anchovies; wildfires blackened the Chaparral, set seeds

for next spring’s Californian Poppies. Would we reach

Santa Catalina Island? We checked our supplies (beans,

water, rice), held our breath, our hands, fitfully slept.