San Francisco

Neptune's brush strokes

foam on gray.

Separating

scraggly land

from his windblown,

drawing hand.

 

Islands skip;

improbable rocks.

Refuge stones.

Sprouting trees,

grass to sit

surreptitious watch

crawling cars

cross a bridge to Fremont.

 

Icy, fog-scrubbed water

sheathes your frozen toes.

You wonder

could you make the swim

back from Alcatraz?

 

A dead whale drifts,

blow-hole bloated closed.

His singing pod has

paid respects.

Now are off

crooning back hastas and luegos.

Floating here behind

gulls will peck his eyes.

His pod is off  to visit friends

in Tierra del Fuego.

 

City claws clutch tortured lands

futile dreams of permanence.

A tremor, even seven,

may dislodge a greedy grasp.

One thousand seals dive off piers

into solace only water brings.

 

These burning years

huddled masses flame and seethe.

Bridges fall,

buildings telescope within themselves.

Fantastic druid magic

incanted by ten thousand elves

abetted by the tunnel trolls

rend spider webs of tempered steel

woven by the men who are not real;

who slide into the sea,

peeling squealing fingernails

searching for a purchase

on sinking glass and money.

 

Fires of blue and red consume

wails of magnates perishing

lost in lava storms,

smoothed by gray white ash.

Memories of glory dashed

beneath relentless seas

rising to eradicate the stain

of whatever grandeur

may remain.