Cruising Greater Boulder , Colorado ,
in four wheel drive utility vehicle,
not many years before 2000,
listening to Hair CD,
I spot you on every other corner,
aged 19 or so,
looking as you did then,
miniskirted, barefooted, great legs,
hard fisted, presenting ass,
stoned with Sanskrit forehead.
The song I hear repeats your mantra,
“How dare they try to end this beauty?”
I see yuppie cubs in the streets shouting
The fire next time!
without really knowing why.
The bold exhale sweet smelling smoke
outside pseudo-native T-shirt shops,
the aroma reminding me
of you in your moon time,
a 68’er running from the summer of blood.
Come back, Sister Morningstar,
from Germany or Canada ,
or from wherever gravity
is making you old.
I miss your crushed social justice,
our orange sky.