I can almost smell San Francisco
this morning
The high Oakland hills
The deep wide view over the bay
Sweet cypress sculpted by wind
Sky so vast
A gateway out to sea
That state of dreams that I learned to forget and long for no more
Softly looms in Christmas memory
Open your mouth you can taste the ocean
Open your heart you might never come back
But I came back
And now this is what is here
Somebody old and new
Scarred and healed
A warrior returning
A cult survivor
Sober and wiser
But those strange hills still call to me
Volcanic goddess above the clouds inviting
The ancestral embrace of redwoods
Why did they wrap you in whirring highways
You who were made for water, mountain and moon?
The ferry waits patiently for the death toll of so many
Love is only a stop along the way
Loneliness, rage and sadness may envelop you
But San Francisco smiles on above it all
Cold warm, wet dry and ancient
Mother of rebirth
Father of despair
The funeral pyre burns brighter than before

Poetry Travel