Francisco stop
Cool, damp dawn air,
soft thuds of platform planks,
long row of barely kept garages,
the alley easement,
weedy vines finding life
on the chain-linked fences
running along the tracks
and the wooden gates of tiny yards.
The city has its own nature,
breathing as it does
in these quiet between times.
A mountain range rests in late summer
from the pounding rain, melting snow,
unruly streams, finally basking,
drying out and finding its rhythm.
The city pauses now — feel it,
let it remind you —
gathering itself, opening.
Poems from in between 
6 responses to “Francisco stop”
A thoroughly impressive work of poetic artistry from conception to brilliant execution. Marvelous!
Ron
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Thank you so much! Always so encouraging to get your feedback.
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Beautiful visuals. I love this line and its implications: “drying out and finding its rhythm.”
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Thanks, Jennifer! Mountains have feelings, too. 🙂
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I love this Jenifer. I always loved the Francisco stop. Years ago, no, decades ago now, I found myself there and thought “I’d like to live at this stop one day…” You captured its magic. Profound in the mundane.
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Me, too! There is something romantic about it, which is odd because it is a train stop. 🙂 Thanks for your too kind words.
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