To the Hills

A few blocks
won't block this parade.
It's no charade,
the intention
to go up.
It's the real thing
up here, 
compound words
and all that fog.
No more Mr. Nice
Coyote, no more 
eucalyptusless mountains.
These hills have
a smell on them.
Smells on them.
And no amount
of vultures
hidden in the mist
can take away 
these breaths of sweet oxygen
close to the sweet sea
almost too sweet
to allow 
fast passage.