‘In Memory Of Kitty’

One of his oldest friends died last week. In that, thirty years flew by—-just like a wink. With him went those early days of freedom, pride, sex, dancing, playing, working, fun, identity set aflame, irony celebrated, community coalesced in the Castro. With him joined all the others, who were loved, admired, befriended and lost. Then came the ash years, a generation suffering, dying and spilled from urns, boxes, sacks, and  by the handfuls, sometimes from the Golden Gate, the Headlands, Land’s End, the Marina, Golden Gate Park and all the beautiful haunts that made for celebration, joy and memory.

This morning,

When heavy fog

Swirled and ebbed

Over the golden grass of the meadow

A blue Heron

Picked it’s way

Carefully, deliberately


In the large empty space.

When the sun came out

The blue air


With clear light.


Could be heard the faint sounds

Of a Jazz flute

And the melody

Of Amazing Grace.

In mid morning

Red Cosmos


With the delicate

Weight of yellow flinches

Taking seeds from

The Fall.


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