Smog

Smog

The year is nearly gone.
It pulls away from us,
a bus attending to schedule.

To honor any leaving,
talk to where you are by looking,
purposefully. I tell this building
I will miss its windows,
small and square as stamps.
Goodbye, petaled cactus
called sempervivum.
Farewell, layered California Avenue graffiti,
a pink, dripping heart,
recently emblazoned with heavy.

At sunset, the sky is full.
Be well, I say while memorizing its pieces:
planes, the moon, orange clouds, smog,
plenty of light but no sun.