SAN FRANCISCO POETS
Foghorns bloom, we break upon meaning
Morning foghorns bloom across the bay
Booming fog mist that wets the embouchure
Of flowers trumpeting color to a gray sky
What more paradise can there be?
Sun as mysteriously gone and tremulously missed as Tony Vaughan’s ponytail
Fog as happily back home as Mark Schwartz from Cuba
Hope like every nursery view of a newborn child
The hope folded into every restaurant opening night napkin
The hope in every crease of prom night dress
The hope folded into every sheet of battlefield or veteran’s hospital
As certain as our future demise, and Earth’s beauty outliving us
We fall through the branches
we reach through for stars
We break upon meaning
Like clams dropped by seabirds
on shoreside rocks
We are lucky as hell to be here.
©2006 by Don Altadena
All rights reserved.
No one may use this poem for commercial purposes without
consideration to the author's impoverished dependents and heir.
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