Dear old St. Francis
odd that familiar
parks and onyx apex
that starves for the skies
sandalwood     harbinger

As we walk the
camel     spine   streets
of South City to North Beach to
a westward seascape
brash   scaffold    lingering
steeped and sweet
for a gaze-eyed artist

Displace the era,
misdirected Guru that
owes nothing to reality