SUNLIGHT ON THE WATER

SUNLIGHT ON THE WATER

Sunlight on the water, here on the West Coast,
Back in San Francisco, we raise the glass and toast.
Toast our love and toast survival, toast the remnants of the day,
Toast the luxury of this life that Fortune's sent our way.

Sunlight dancing off the water, framed by the Golden Gate,
Freeing these two travelers, these prisoners of Fate.
Prisoners who have come so far, like aliens from outer space,
Soaking up some chilly rays, before our fall from grace.

The Coit Tower, the TransAmerica building, loom in the distance,
Alcatraz across the island, a relic from the fabled past,
As time it casts its shadow and rushes by too fast.

The sea lions purr on Fisherman's Wharf, fat and happy in the sun,
Basking in belligerence, they will not budge for anyone.
Panhandlers and peddlers, the native and the transplant,
The people talking to themselves, the Hare Krishna chant.

The specter of all humankind, in its rich and varied tapestry,
The rich, the poor, the searching, the wonder of this magic city.
Some folks come to find themselves, to reinvent their lives.
Others try to run away from a shattered yesterday,
Hoping that for just this once they can keep the wolf at bay.
He's always howling at the door, he longs to wash up on some shore,
Where sorrows are unheard of and troubles are no more.

Where fog can stretch for miles and miles, and life is seen through mist,
Where a weary soul can find some rest and a measure of forgetfulness.
Perhaps a night of drinking at the bars that never close,
Peet's coffee and the native blends to rouse you from repose.

The flowers slumbering in their beds, along with human sleepyheads.
And sunlight on the sacred water, setting, fading of the light.
So long, San Francisco, on this our final farewell night.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED