making #6: coup d’etat

At low tide
the ocean is beaten back
from the beaches
bruised and motionless.
Sinking behind
the rise of gritty
suburban streets,
cracked mosaic houses
terraced up from the cliffs,
flint-rough roofs
and white walls.
This hot city
gasps moisture
out of the air
and the pavements fill—
beak-torn figs
rolling gumnuts
parched leaves to attract sparks.
Streets shed their skin
while humans hide indoors,
the mountain
greedy
collecting thunder
and clouds as fat as fruit.