San Francisco

City of little garbage cans
gently tended by Sunset Scavengers
in the early morning fog.

I stand here on the summit of Twin Peaks
and peer through the daze
in hopes that I can somehow see
San Francisco.

This is not a fog that comes in on little cat feet,
all cunning and demure –
it is a Western fog, swift and brave
born in the cold, blue Pacific
and drawn like a magnet
to the heights on which I stand.

Behind me there lies a crumbling desert,
before me are vast waters,
and betwixed and beclouded
is San Francisco.

©2007, Stephen Labovsky

Click here to read more of Stephen Labovsky’s poems from the collection, “City By The Bard.” Labovsky can be reached at labo16@comcast.net.

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The Lunar Eclipse – August 29th 2007

If the Sun is the giver of all life on this earth,
then the moon is but the turner of tides, the maker of madness,
and there to lend a silvery light by which we fall in love.

Unlike the solar eclipse, the moon slowly wanes into nothingness while half the world is dreaming:
Only those who are unsleeping, and lovers can know the lonely beauty
in a night when the moon disappears.

©2007, Stephen Labovsky