Drought.
UnChristmas showers sting in San Francisco,
Do not look forward to the sky. As you look down –
Under a bank’s canopy, green sleeping bag - a shroud
To a bay's owner kept dry by Sunday thoughts.
Sometimes,
In downtown, your bathroom needs not met,
Librarian, you, bum – enjoy a crappy lunch,
The conversations act as emptying and flush,
Philology, critique – word drops are tossed like rinds.
Means
To convey and move the ready, wet, and cold
To sleep, to awe, to hills of zigzagged heights,
To sights where fish schools swim above in prides,
While Alcatraz is sentenced to peer through umbrella screens.
Reflection
In car windows of silver mints that fall,
Streetcar conductor’s gospel – warm perfection to his fold.