Gates

                                             Picture: Own handiwork

He made it
to the Golden Gate
while I
waited
for the Indian sun
to lose its gold
to the sea.

I waited
for shadows
and black silhouettes-
to trap them
like mice
into my meshed
memory.

He waited
for a second
gold rush
while I
hush-hushed
the sea
in its loud reverie.

I made it
to the morning's blur
while he
walked unaided
in the Stones of the Sur
and joined
in the coterie.

He'd sated
the Golden State
with his
energy
while I
returned to one long
journal entry.

I waited
for anything but him
while he
made it
to me
like a whim-
that ill-fated referee.

He waited
for me
to be free
while I
faded
trying
to agree.