Marooned on a rooftop on Divisadero Street,
we launch our bubble machine:
the first fireflies of summer,
a blizzard.
His eyes follow the trajectory
of miniature biospheres
that snap and pop at will,
each one a shimmering poem.
They splat on creeping bougainvillea
that clings to a sun-baked brick wall,
climax, disappear­­­­­­­­­­
except in the photo album of my mind