“sunrise over the golden gate”

Upon the restless edge where oceans meet  
A bridge, all rust and grace, cuts through the mist—  
The Golden Gate awakes beneath my feet,  
Its lattice glowing gold and amethyst.  

Night loosens gentle fingers from the span,  
Where headlights, like the dreams of those who roam,  
Still pour—a thread of longing, every man  
And woman thinking, morning calls me home.  

But look—the east is blush, a painter’s sweep,  
A hush before the city stirs anew;  
The fog, in silver veils, begins to creep  
And steal in ribbons down the avenue.  

A gull, indifferent monarch of the bay,  
Wheels silently above the gold and red;  
Alcatraz floats, a memory in gray,  
While sunlight crowns the cable wires ahead.  

Here, hope is tangible: the day, begun  
With burnished promise, smeared on sky and tide;  
The bridge a portal to the risen sun,  
San Francisco waking, arms flung open wide.  

So let the skyline sparkle, let hearts race—  
For every morning, standing at this gate,  
We witness light threading through time and space,  
And taste the world, remade and delicate.

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