San Francisco spring
It’s Sunday morning, the paths
Are flooded with dykes.
In Golden Gate Park
Solemn scatter crumbs for ducks
Napping in the sun.
Hummus, carrot cake
Faded quilt over clover
The smell of hot skin.
Bees collect nectar
Clandestine couples smooching
A swoon of sweetness
The scent of blossoms
Flesh rolling, undulating
Talking and walking.
A guitar softly
Playing songs of loss and love
Remember this day.
This is resistance
A picnic, a poem, a kiss
Blankets of fresh grass.
