I may drive west to the ocean
Preferably an old convertible
Slough off my shorts
Lay down at the mouth of the Pacific
The tide comes in goes out
Sucks me away like driftwood
Bloated and polished
On waves of salt.
I fed my father’s ashes
To the winds of Mingus Mountains
Cried when the sun split the gray sky
Joyous valleys of green light
He did not like the beach
Didn’t teach me to live or die
But to negotiate with skill
Horizon-less highways into the night