Sitting, looking out
this tower's windows,
across the bay
at the city skyline.
A beautiful city.
The fog slipping
onto the island's
   tideflats.
It seems eerie --
with buildings
and industrial lights
playing hide and seek.
The bridge engulfed
by a silver, cerebral
   sea--
and the cold fog
rolling, rolling down
and back upon
   itself,
as if a stream
   of vapors
flows along the
roadways of time
   and space,
flooding the gutters
with lost loves,
   faded dreams.
the last reflections
of that secret realm
which only the eternal
fog can hide --
along with street-grided
mysteries of the city,
and the heart-of-hearts
which beats in building
    and bridge.
Street upon street
winding down
with a certain purpose,
to finally end upon
   the water's edge
where an ancient
   stairway
descends into the bay.