Summer Nights

I sit facing the window to the West.
I watch the sun drop into the Pacific,
just beyond my ken,
lighting San Francisco as it falls,
its last rays lighting the towering eucalyptus that frame my view.

Suddenly, on a wave of grief,
I return to a balmy summer night
on the shore of Lake Michigan,
brown summer arms 
swinging from the top arc of a Ferris Wheel,
sniffing languid air,
floating above the beat of music,
young people dancing at my feet.

Suddenly, 
I return to the darkened room 
in which I sit.
The memory, gone.
The grief, remaining.

       Mary Elyn Bahlert  05/2020

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