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.
6 responses to “Francisco stop”
A thoroughly impressive work of poetic artistry from conception to brilliant execution. Marvelous!
Ron
Thank you so much! Always so encouraging to get your feedback.
Beautiful visuals. I love this line and its implications: “drying out and finding its rhythm.”
Thanks, Jennifer! Mountains have feelings, too. 🙂
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.
Me, too! There is something romantic about it, which is odd because it is a train stop. 🙂 Thanks for your too kind words.