Every time I Hear Pink Moon I Think of Her

Urgency without clarity. Ignoring what matters in real time. Without knowing why. And only recognizing it later through a song.

Every time I hear Pink Moon I think of her.

San Francisco to Seattle.
The red sands of Shasta.
The moon over Crater Lake.

She wanted to stop and see.
We didn’t.

She wanted to stay in Portland.
We didn’t.

We drove so hard.

It went bad.

I had to get home
for some reason.

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