The changing light

                 at San Francisco

       is none of your East Coast light

                none of your

                            pearly light of Paris

The light of San Francisco

                        is a sea light

                                       an island light

And the light of fog

                   blanketing the hills

          drifting in at night

                      through the Golden Gate

                                       to lie on the city at dawn

And then the halcyon late mornings

       after the fog burns off

            and the sun paints white houses

                                    with the sea light of Greece

                 with sharp clean shadows	

                       making the town look like

                                it had just been painted



But the wind comes up at four o'clock

                                     sweeping the hills



And then the veil of light of early evening



And then another scrim

                  when the new night fog

                                        floats in

And in that vale of light

                      the city drifts

                                    anchorless upon the ocean