winding down the mountain ranges in a rented car you sing i'm a honky tonk man and i can't seem to stop and i look alternately at you and out the window at pine tree vistas redwoods that have grown for anywhere from one hundred to a thousand years in the park now weaving towards the one oh one and eventually home by way of several stops we have in mind and i am waiting mostly for the return to the seaside near a defunct dumping site where one hundred to a thousand spark plugs are embedded in the tide pools and anemone curl their arms around  my fingers i am saying im a little fish and they seem to be buying it as the sand glistens softly comprised of broken sanded down glass from every kind of bottle you can image but most of the blue pieces have been collected by greedy hands and your nose is cold and your mouth is warm so we climb to the top of some scattered rocks and stare at the horizon and then down at the water swirls in and out below us dark and white edged unafraid maybe because inland worries are tied there inland and your arms and mine are strong enough for right now to shoulder down from the rock and rub our hands together all the way back to the car