| I swirl the Fresno air in a fine
glass and sniff |
| I draw it into my lungs with
effort |
| Like breathing sediment |
| Full-bodied diesel,
with heavy undertones of pollen |
| |
and industrial dairy |
| I let the air roll to the back
of my throat |
| I taste the terroir,
the sun-blazed valley earth, |
| The generations
dripping sweat and pesticide |
| I pull back to
examine the texture and color |
| Thick and sienna
hued as a thirty-year old zinfandel |
| It will make a
beautiful sunset |