Pacific Poem by Peter Campion

Balconies and streams
of cars on the 101
the sour milk smell
dumpsters in Vacaville and mist
between the promontories
dripping on ice-plant
all patch inside the day as earth
circles and comes up
streaked with dew.

But the shape a life makes?
while rage and affection spin
happiness and pain:
there has to be some
promise beyond this sheerest
animal drive.
Though it has been enough
so many times
as night hits and orange
slices the hillsides as
someone is
coming for you
as blood beats and
miles and hours pass
as generous and
indiscriminate as rain.