For Diana

For Diana

At sunset at the edge of the world
in San Francisco the fog crawls in,
a pillow for the sun.
The day drowses in diaphanous
light, a lullaby light dressed in
the caress of silk tucks in.

At dawn the sun sneaks back,
ambushes the hills with sharp,
vanquishing droplets. Clarity
wears a uniform, scrubbing cobwebbed
corners clean. The city stretches awake.