Of all the things I want from the West Coast
there is a thing whose absence hurts most
and it was found in whispered mountain-tops
or in a pool in the desert, in child-like screaming
and shared fireworks, stolen flashes
it was friendship – and it is missing, here

Of all the things I have on the South Coast
pebbles, beaches, buildings and boats
it is not here. I borrow, briefly, other people’s
and I find it at work fleetingly before they leave
but I do not have my own

California is something else, if not for
its golden coast, if not for the waves
the sun and colour and laughter
it is for its friendship, and the honesty
in laughter

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