Across Highway One
from where I slept, from where a hummingbird swept
into the brush to alert me to another
day, I wait.
Fog never fully rolls back to reveal
those mountaintops but allows the sun to be exposed
as hours progress. Seams between
sky, ocean, cliff
recede. I’m not waiting—I’m opening receptacles
to turn-outs and drop-offs and rock-ons.