Membrane or mechanism
is the tide, pulled places.
Sea to bay, bay by breezes,
just as we move on land
toward a view of the city.
San Francisco undone at a distance,
silent without street music
those horns that escape Octobers.
Pipers lift off
moved to swarm into a beast of birds,
back and forth, black, white, black,
each turn tuned like a beatmatch.
The port cranes are still.
They seem to suspend the bridge,
its tipping wire shore to shore
cars drawn away from Oakland
to its fortress of four-sided
mystery, its hills atop history,
its blended blueness.
Breean Lowe was born in San Diego, California, in 1975. A graduate of UCSD’s writing program, her search for life experience lead her to live in, love and leave several port towns on the West Coast. A poet, editor and copywriter, she lives in Oakland with her scientist husband, pup and a fighting fish. She is finally writing her first book of poetry.