A burgeoning of the neighbors'
Fruit trees drops bruised offerings
Into the lean lap of my lawn.

A brick wall leans back
Forever caught in mid-crumble
Since the Northridge quake.

Ivy proliferates among a stunted
Palm, a corn plant without husks,
Two withered rose bushes clipped

By the gardener's chainsaw,
And a smattering of wildflowers
Which persist despite bleached soil

And rock. Spires of cypress draw
The eye up. Five telephone wires
Striate the skyline into bands

Of reference, form perches
For: mourning doves, crows,
Sparrows, hummingbirds, jays,

And those little hopping starlings,
Sleek as oil blotches, which stain
The lawn with shadows.

Here, there is no need for coverings.
Everything drips with naked
Light, even the hurtful blue

Of the jay's wing as it dips
Carnivorous, to steal hotdog slices
From the papillon's dish.