A sigh of remembrance
as I drive home.
The fields on this side
of the freeway
still flower green,
as the moon, almost full,
rises over dusky cows
dotting a hillside.
Clusters of oak trees
darken to a deeper hue,
long, thin clouds drift
across a grey sky—
a last gasp of brilliant pink
fades in the west.
To the south,
Mt. Diablo’s peak is hidden,
reminiscent of Mt. Fuji.
Another beautiful woman
hides her tears,
behind an evening cloud bank
of forgetting.

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