At the Marina, I stand, face against the
Wind, which blows across the bay.
I look towards the rolling waves
That press against the ivory shore,
And it reminds me of home.
I turn, to face the doll houses
Each painted a different color.
Strung along the grid of streets
Laced together by cable cars,
Looking sweet, like candy.
In North Beach, I stop.
For princess cake the color of sage
That tastes like tea and almonds.
I look towards the water again,
From my station, among cement hills.
I drive, across the golden bridge
And see the painted sky
As hues of lavender grasp the rust.
To pull them closer, just before dusk
My mind is clear, my heart is full.
Towards the other side, I venture
Nearing forests vast with redwoods,
Where final rays of sunlight peak in
To floors of moss and coastal growth
Untouched for nearly a century.
San Francisco watches over me,
Cleansing me with gratitude.
Bringing me peace, filling me with
Warmth for a city which once felt cold.
But now I look at it again, renewed.