San Francisco

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Biting wind perennially carries the sweet song of the sirens –

When I hear it

I'm compelled to bear witness to their performance.

The tallest trees in the world sway

and I think of the first day

I saw them dance

to the wind's bewitching melody.

That dusk I thought I might die,

that Mother Earth's Ancient Sentinels in a red rage would slam their limbs onto me,

the intruder.

And still, I couldn't help but gaze toward the stars,

admiring the Waltz of Giants.

Now,

in the cold air,

the aroma of wet soil

tastes savory like fresh sourdough.

And when I hold my breath,

I can feel my soul again.