Got an eyeful of SF at night from across the Bay, with fog tickling
the towers. The camera refused to resolve the image, so … haiku below.
Messy jewelry box br>
Trailing gems in the water, br>
Snagging feathered veils.
Moving is still in my mind. I’ll soak up the beauties here while I can.
“Nacre” sounds like an erotic euphemism. A leisurely beachcombing near ancient oyster beds led me to realize that. In fact, it went further, and prompted a poem.
The meter, for those who care, is represented visually as follows:
Oh the shine! My fingers ache
To touch that sweet thing:
Silken colors, slippery,
As soft as me there;
Curves that arc in gentle swoons
Around the body
Once awash in holy calm
Within that temple,
Wrapping scarves of pearl
Around its softness:
Breathing water, eating sand,
Casing empty, body gone,
It fills my eyes now:
Oyster shell, long empty, laps
The flowing water.
Coming up to Castro & Market, I noticed half a dozen middle-aged men, most in wonderful shape, some with jackets draped over their chairs and some with jeans in puddles around their feet. Wearing nothing but hats. … And a few tattoos, possibly as punctuation, but it’s not like they cover anything.
I perked up and went over; said, “Gentlemen, I _love_ your outfits!”
A circle of shit-eating grins glowed back at me. The cutest-and-he-knew-it said, “Thanks; we worked real hard on ’em!”
Had it been an enclosed space (like a bar), I’d have had a comeback, but aware as I was of the very mixed crowd, I just gave a little laugh and passed on –with a big grin.
I love this town.
I’m briefly amazed:
Do trees, clouds, waves fit on string?
Those are _my_ prayer beads.