I sit on the hill
seeing Martinez light up
as the sun passes behind the cusp
of Mt. Diablo
this dirt witnessed me turn old,
has stories to tell,
a well of sorrows spent and sorrows kept
it's seen the laughter
along with emptiness
my souls settles like dust
after a gust of unrest, turbulence
while the Great Plains call
my name rustling through the grass
my heritage, past lives pushing
pulling
controlling, unbeknownst to me
sitting silent with the
Bay Area
trees