It mars to build or mend. Fit into your plans it waits on the workbench like a humming kettle. Tipped over it will sing. From the mouth, tongues flared and brilliant as the insides of lilies. Behind them a wafer of invisible gas.
Palms parade down the foothills.
Wide streets sleeping in. Walkways curve among the rosebushes. In the foot-thick stucco walls a blunt hint of adobe anchors the revival. Always this nod to a mythic past. Thin dreams of realtors inscribed in the layered crust.