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we huddled together
under brilliant stars
by the drum fire pit
no wood, no fire, but wind.

the full moon rose
over the eastern bluff
and bathed the open field
with silver light

and dead composers
thrilled our souls
denying the past
erasing the future.

she watched me wash in the river.
john thomas stood at attention
saluting the past, i guess.
no reason except the breath of
the wind
a tickling zephyr.

it all started when julie called me two weeks ago.
"i want to talk to you about going to big sur…" etc. on my voice mail.

so i called her back and arranged to meet julie at demian's house at six on monday.

i was on time except the bay bridge delayed me another hour.
fourteen lanes i counted; all lanes feeding into four cash
booths and people switching lanes laboriously at a snails pace to
get to the "pass holders" lane.i was stuck for five minutes at a
time with no movement and then julie called to find out where i
was. i suddenly saw an opening and with the phone in my right
hand at my ear did a left handed swoop out of my position behind a
white pick-up truck. i could hear the crunch. i thought my
whole side was scraped. but it was just the side mirror.
don't drive while you're on the phone.

from demian's terrace (the sanfrancisco bay bridge)

after dinner and sleep, the next day we took the scenic route out
of san francisco and down the coast towards monterey.
beautiful drive it was. and we chatted continuously and listened
to james taylor tape and some wild coltrane.
my tent was plenty big for the

two of us. without the rain "fly

cover" you could see the night

sky through the ceiling; we had

a full moon and we watched it

rise. and later outside for a

four in the morning saunter to

the outhouse i watched it set in

the west.

the full moon
rises slowly
from behind the hill
suddenly the night is illumined
then it sets on the other side of our field
and the sun gradually brightens the day
over the same hill
they go round and round
taking turns dispelling darkness

at war with the ground squirrels, in spite of their noble prairie dog stance, artful thieves in a gang. they felt the sting of my stick… eyes behind my head i can feel them surrounding the table. and they are wary of me.
in the daytime they are grazing on the grass like a herd of buffalo. but if i start to prepare dinner it's bait an switch and there goes the chocolate. sometimes i leave them some lemon seeds in a hole in the picnic table. they even ate my plastic sandals.

today the yellow leaves floated

became little boats
drifting in the quiet stream
not far now to the ocean
a buttefly parades by me
and a blue/black bird rests
on a nearby branch
over the river
my feet in the stream after a wash
the water is cooling my blood.

when julie was getting rebellious on the third day she actually said, "i should have made love to you last night. then i wouldn't have this problem with you."
she wanted to hitchhike to partington canyon and stay at big sur forever. she denies alzheimers, but every night, "where are we?" and "are we in a boat?"