(at the San Francisco National Cemetery Overlook:)
View of the now-75-year-old Golden Gate Bridge,
Dark Bay, dark skies, dark hills,
Everything a sort of Blue.
Sitting amidst a copse
Of eucalyptus trees, I
Hear the breeze stir peeling bark
Like a metronome,
Beating back and forth
Against the trunks,
Whirligig to the ground.
Archibald MacLeish quote on a plaque:
“…give our deaths your meaning.
We were young…we died.