San Francisco

Over there, the pier jutting over gray.
Your eyes were sometimes that color.

Salt fog, wind sea, sun clouds
surround me. There are children
in the distance somewhere laughing.

They are so young.
When they see the sea
they see the sea,

nothing more to the glimmer of light
swallowed by the water,
no copper spun in setting clouds,

no hair like strands of copper,
no skin that tastes like the fog.

The beach is for children and lovers.

There might be God in the waves crashing.
There might be you in the sands,
eventually.

Beyond the pier,
sea lions watch
the buoys flashing in the night.

17.12.07