We did not care,
Where they were!
I drew her in my mind!
All the time.
On my canvas!
I caught the sunlight on her hair.
Dew dipped in the mornings,
To glisten.
With a hint of tint…
Captured by the setting of the Sun.
And after I was done…
I would collect my drawings,
To begin my long walk home!
High on Russian Hill.
In San Francisco.
And she rushed around from Chestnut.
Brushed against me…
As I turned to lose sight of the Wharf.
We bumped!
And I dropped my draws.
Scattered they flew into the street.
She noticed her image,
On nearly all of them.
She looked at me and grinned.
Within an instant…
We fixed our eyes.
And neither one of us cared,
Where my draws were.

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