The Night the Santa Ana Wind Wakes Us

The crash rocks us. A shingle snaps.  
Santa Ana gale rattles.  
Like the two pigeons  
on the shed’s roof we wait  
for the Swenson hawk.  
This house with its high ceilings —  
light streamed in, once a sanctuary,  
now too bright.  

At night you curl on your side,  
dawn pulled over your rounded 
back, and dwarfed muscle.  
I lay restless with dreams.  
I loved you in your suede and leather.  
In those days jasmine burst  
over rough terrain we wore through. 
Where did all the Alleluias go?  

Time curls closed fists inward. 
Our backs bend with the years.  
We strummed the final note.  
The fine silk days are over.  
Do not leave yet  
the fountain gush whispers.  
We shoulder to shoulder against  
the howling wind that rips  

palm fronds and bamboo stalks. 
It whips coyote howls down our streets 
Still, our matched steps  
move forward. We breathe   
the plumeria bloom. Your palm presses  
into my spine — a gentle nudge.  
With each new step branches snap  
leaves scatter like an energetic child.  

On the Napali Coast we hiked the Kalalau Trail 
and rode the last salt-crusted wave. 

FLORENCE MURRY

Florence Murry is the author of Last Run Before Sunset, forthcoming in 2023 from Finishing Line Press. Her poems have appeared in Slipstream Press, Stoneboat Literary Magazine, Off the Coast, Bluestem Magazine, Southern California Review, Hole In The Head Review and others. Florence lives and writes in Southern California.