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.