for a yellow dress in san francisco

indian summer looms
in the distance
like that fog
that hangs
huddled around the feet
of the golden gate
until the fall finally exhales
her held hot breath
and the gray's holiday
on the coast
evaporates

the real summer
of this city
is always late
because, in san francisco
even the seasons
embrace rebellion

so reassure that yellow dress
growing restless
at the back of the closet
that she must only hang in there
a little longer
because her golden bloom
is coming




wb