Before Daylight Hits the Bay

Before Daylight Hits the Bay Courtney Chapin I press my hand against the window, think of kissing California good-bye. I wish I could leave it like this, still sleeping under grey mist. A lover who can't wake up beside you, I trace the curve of hills— shoulder, waist, hip, thigh still tangled in white sheets of cloud. At home, sheets are pulled tight over a pillow-top mattress, but when I roll over, there's more than a dream ofhills to put my arm around. 83 ...