Walking the Fog

 

The Booming Tunnel
We walked the fog
 weaving patterns within
the tall grasses and dill
looking for bits of glass
bits of brick in the rubble
of my father’s dream
 We walked
on narrow walls of concrete
rust forming jagged teeth
framed in skeletal jaws
bathed in sea water and silt
Sea birds screamed
against the rising tide
raising memories
my father telling me
gulls were the souls of the dead
Today
I believed it.
We walked the ruins
old Sutro’s past glories
whipping up the mists
bathing our faces with that same water
that fed in from the moving tides
through the tunnels
pulling and pulsing arteries
of the huge pools
pumping
millions of gallons
of sea water
still filling
the tanks
during the day
and then
into the long
chilled
lonely nights
The ghosts walk
slipping through the green depths
gliding past the pump house
unseen
holding a brittle hand
to the face
catching
warm breath
in cold fingers
as you pass by the brick stairs
leading to
nowhere
We walked
the dark
 mist swirling
waiting
lurking
for us
in the tunnels end
the booming
of the surf
pounding rock walls
crashing on the staircase
washing brick and sand
down cliff faces
pummeling our hearts
with its heart beat
We walked the fog
San Francisco, CA
Monday, August 11, 2008
Copyright 2008 LAS All Rights Reserved
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