Dim memories surface, then sink back down, like jewels in quicksand.
There they go, those memories...
But wait!
Sports
car leaps out of the mud, blue and gleaming. It grows large, sprouts
wings and soars across the Golden Gate and into the clouds.
Music fills the air. Oh,
oh, Moody Blues, Aretha Franklin, Hot Tuna, Boz Skaggs. Waylon Jennings pulls up the
commune on a magic carpet.
What's that smell? Marijuana, the ocean,
plumeria, lasagne.
Motorcycle surfaces in roaring splendor, shouts sex and possibility.
Sunday sighs and drifts, nothing and no one to tend, just sleep.
The jewels settle down, dot the surface, and sink back.
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