I It’s Sunday and By God it’s sunny. Unusual for San Francisco. Walking on Castro Street in Noe Valley, we see a blue sky to the west— the great wall of upper Market. II Not for the first time for the first time— Here Coffee with a friend, my old friend. These are things I cannot fail to mention, things I mention for the uncommon unity or the old strangeness that eludes me. III Squinting over the roof through the brilliant and moving wisps of fog the sun gets in my eyes, sitting in the garden with my friend behind the steep apartment— fresh cool weeds in wet dirt and green tomatoes.
21 September 1975