Looking at her hair dancing / in the wind, you felt promise / in the place and all its dream / palaces. Your new name in / waves on the sand, a peaceful / easy feeling. Post-Nixon / vibes from the rocky brown cliffs / pinched by houses on stilts, a / coast that washed away all the / impostor selves. Rolling on / the 10, your wrist on the wheel . . . / just 20 minutes to the / Tar Pits then. Or maybe you’d / take Sunset: made warm / by the generous and unbroken / light, you’d fly past cottages / roofed in Spanish tile nuzzling / the hills that curved up . . .