San Francisco Sunrise

Sitting on the point above the Bay
you put your nonchalant hand in mine
we talk about rent
summer winds
the violet indigo mountains

Wandering through
our stream of consciousness dialogue
we avoid topics like
planes
leaving
separation
as if they were bits of broken glass
and we were barefoot

The conversation passes like a breath
and we are left with our body heat
and the icy morning air
and the fog rolling over the Gate
and the stirring of the animals
who help hide us from humanity

We watch transfixed
as the surf pounds the cliffs
and the crashing of the waves
drown an inebriated dove's coo
as she searches for grubs
with the same urgency as when we
dug through our packs searching
for the cloves we had smoked three hours before

You turn to me
but we are interrupted
by the voyeuristic sun who
after peeking at us briefly
explodes into the sky
with reds and oranges and yellows
and the moment is lost

We exchanged our souls that morning
as we waited for the sun to rise over the City
but somehow in the heat of the light
and the brilliance of the moment
we forgot to return them
and now I have yours
and a hole where mine used to be
separated by a plane
and a continent
again

---

Home | On Jaime | Joke Archive | Movie Mania | Music | Books | Links