In any case, I came across this in an anthology of LA poetry:
OK, L.A., You Win
No need to ratchet up the color
in that bright spot where the sun set.
Sunset. I saw how you silhouetted
that single palm against the sky.
Your hot-pink cirrus to lavender stratus
works every time. The surge
from melon to apricot to deepest
This long day I’ve stayed
at the windows, house-sitting
in Echo Park, a hillside overlooking
a wide boulevard: morning’s
dazzle, pools of afternoon sun
the cat and I laze in, you
withdrawing the warmth
slowly. No star yet, but
I know it’s coming. Shamelessly,
you’ll hang a high white moon
to make a life by.
from Coiled Serpent