SAN BERNARDINO

I imagine
I am walking down a street
Your mask is sun
Your shoulders become clouds
The brown of your clothing
The brown of the small shops
I glance at the face of another
They do not acknowledge as they walk
I approach the stoplight
and it is not yellow
it is black
black
black
everything turns dark
and as I hear the echo of the streets of my past
when I look up I see no jester
but a passerby
not giving me a glance
as I continue towards the sun.