from Swirling
Dale Pendell:
(This poem also
appeared in City of
The City, from
a Roof on Cragmont Street
Over the tree
tops, lying
like a silver wolf--
warm wind has blown away the smog: sun
is just behind Tamalpais.
This gifted
turquoise crescent,
counted and cut to the square inch:
the
Hetch-Hetchy whirrs, complains.
An Old One
climbs over the crest
of the Berkeley Hills, gathering acorns
with the women.
He pauses, sees
it:
the span of the bridge,
the towers, the buildings, the lights,
a brief moment,
shudders to
himself;
thinks it must be his great age--
says nothing to the women.