at night
the cargo ship
glows like candle light
flickering cross the bay
a table set
under the moon
which is a full spotlight
through the eucalyptus
whose leaves shutter
and jangle
like a tambourine.
who so ever claims
no culture
no beauty
in this los angeles
has not looked
has not listened
has not inhaled
its life.
all places burned
in our hearts
have it.

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