i'm afraid to write love poems
by david van den berg
i drove up the angel’s highway the night i went to watch the sky fall
abandoned cars and camper vans and parked a ways
from the clinking glasses and champagne laugh bubbling from
the tinted windows of a bmw.
i stood on the edge of the canyon
turned my eyes to the lion and let the bitter wind
eat me alive.
i saw no stars in the thinning air.
just a fat moon burnt orange by the western blaze
clouds of smoke built from
of men and women asleep in
and beneath my wings i saw
the city lights struggling to breathe to the rhythm of the
thunder of thousands of distant freeway trucks, so many and so faint that i thought
the ocean lived between their wheels.
the second most beautiful thing i saw up there was the
ghost of a hanging tree
growing out of a boulder that cracked beneath its own weight.
the most beautiful thing i saw on the angel’s highway,