—Topanga: where the mountain meets the sea
The Tongva
Coyote’s call cuts the wind
and wakes me, the summer moon full,
the canyon rimmed midnight blue
as if all water and light,
my dream following the path
of the day’s news—
the thin white
beluga whale
who swam a southern path
from arctic waters
and found himself in France
along the Seine.
They tried to feed him dead
herring and live trout.
They hoped to save him
as they hoisted high
with heavy nets his body,
more sardine-like than cetacean,
so emaciated. There then
was a shape-shifting
above my bed—
a whale’s glow in the echo
of coyote. The beluga’s
final thoughts unknown,
as he was spooned
from the silver river—
too fresh, too warm.
