I stood by the ocean the day I heard
feeling the weight of the wind under deep dark clouds,
taking photographs that now you'll never see--
and I remember when you were here, and we pondered
thinking of the forests we grew up around
and the other shore, closer to there but rarely visited--
we wondered, that afternoon
whether this coast was merely another continent,
or a whole different planet.

riding up the noisy Powell cable
the air smells oddly of fresh nova lox
with a slight fruity tang - from where?
as, out on the hill, dozens of iPods
walk determinedly past windowfuls
of lingerie and jewelry
living the history, still
of San Francisco