Pastoral I: Los Angeles
Brandon Cook
Sometimes through the concrete, you get a glimpse of how grand the land was
Before condo and apartment swept down over it, covering it
You get a sense of Indians who stood on the shore and looked up at the mountains and fell down, because the Great Spirit knew nothing of boardwalks or billboards or roadside dinosaurs
Sometimes, early in the morning, late at night, you can hear the earth breathing, sleeping, the mountains creaking, unaware of all the late-night blankets now draped over it
It’s all glitter, ready to be shaken off, like a dog shakes off bath-water before it takes a nap
The earth will rise and, like the dog, tremble, unaware of itself, lost in some hypnagogic nod, before stretching its paws and curling up again in a tight, unknowing ball