She whispers my name, invites me to dance
in the Haight, where musical history thrives.
She says each street glows a different color,
so lively, I’ll never want to close my eyes.
She promises peace to my Pisces heart
when my feet touch the Pacific waves.
She promises air so expressive and sweet
I’ll be lifted off my notebook’s page,
higher than the city’s hills to a place
where possibility can mate with my dreams
to create my new life of art!
sick of making wishes on candles
Wish You Were Here fills my head
as our plane lands. Only a sad, inspired song
like that can predict my mood as we sit close
on the rocking boat, drinking wine on the bay.
I can’t take my eyes off the Golden City’s lights;
a weightlessness of birds taking flight
explodes in my eyes, and I realize
San Francisco kept her promise,
though I can’t keep a promise
to myself as I clip my own wings;
I’m not brave enough to stay.