Jack again in the Lower Haight

Jack,

you are here
in this dark bar
with me
while the Dead spin about us
in ghostly wisps of memory
and we are drinking wine
you and i
and the hardwood echoes
while four generations of hippies
tango tulips and daisy chains
and Jack you are here
whispering in my ear
about moving and shaking
and all the ways
everything makes poetry
always

you are here