A Short Walk on a Hot Morning Long pile of pipes,    where exactly will you be laid?        Where will you bring water            from this narrow well? * Burnt log fallen across the wash,    you are a bridge over missing water,        illuminated shore to shore            by little lampposts of poison oak. * Eucalyptus, reaching your gray-green    shaggy hand into summer sky,        what is it you hope to grasp? * Little pond in the creek bed,    you are a sea for yellowjackets        to circle in their…