Outside cars line up ticketed
Rickety in a rusty mist of San Francisco fog
High heel and blonde echoing up to my window.
The traffic is light
The stars are distant and bright
A night in present to be remembered falsely
We take many things for granted

A laugh bounds against the high wall of this city's illusion
Many smiles, many grins, along with many ruins
I thought we were being bombed today
Work between my fingers the lights flickered above me
And I thought, "This is the day I die, and I die alone."

Around these corner alleyways the meter maids purr
Transcending human emotion ordered by rules & safety
The wind feels no guilt when it destroys
The Earth, ocean, and fire neither
These elementals, they play with us like pawn pieces
We can only bow and obey

At noon the abstract grip their baskets
Made of pencil lead, plastic, and porcelain
Hours pass and the power they wished for
Slips through their shaking, cracked fingers

At least the weather is good here
All good things appear near
An abundance of ripe fortitude
Makes solitude precious & everlasting

Hold fast to true strength and virtue
The darkest hour produces the greatest light
Hold fast to your skills and talents
Challenges shape the ones who will not be fallen

"TIghter," ordered the tailor, a drop of sweat dangling from his nose,
"Attention to the detail, this will not be a failure."
Concentrating, the apprentice's hands shaking, squinted his one good eye
Into the thin hole of the needle, the other side infinities void
The bare fire was outrageous with how little heat it was giving
His hands shaking from the cold, the wind hoarse
Outstretching pale fingers, the thread through the needle