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.



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