i can't remember all the times i tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass

~ you. me. the golden gate bridge. we pull off the road, walk down darkened trails, perch on the edge of a westward cliff to watch stars move over the pacific.

~ near the bishop hot springs we lay side by side on the hood of your jeep. in the shadow of the eastern sierras, the car metal warms my skin.

~ a late ride back from union square, lost on the muni. we wander through tendrils of fog in silent victorian neighborhoods.

~ the sidewalks are empty and glowing hazy yellow street light in japantown. you put an arm around my shoulders, glance sideways. i know what you want to say.

~ocean beach: after my first run. the waves, blending gray with the low clouds of a november morning, break at my feet. there are kite flyers and dogwalkers and september sunners: all i hear is my breath.