In every uprising there's an instant
when street corners look like movie sets and
the protesters feel self-conscious, like
extras in Ben-Hur. Just now

As Golden Gate Park lies sunken in sea fog
concealing in heaps of sodden brown leaves
beer cans, condoms, a soccer ball,

The sky flashes past us while we sleep,
deep in our beds, drowning,

cello-shaped in our linen sheets,