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. Light streams and wavers, all the smooth cream-colored surfaces mottled and pitted. A certain broad dryness is spreading in the sun, capacious, democratic and matte.