whisps of winter fog
caress the hillside’s dry grass,
no breeze this morning
north of the highway,
fifty dirty yellow cars
engineless they pause
the old bridge is low
fourteen feet zero inches,
trucks pass uncaring
crumbling concrete
bridge spans only a river bed,
parched February
breakwater gulls
skim the surf’s foam,
Belmont Park sunset
wafflecone ice cream
shared around a fire pit,
La Jolla winter