-A reading in December-

With Ferlinghetti’s “San Francisco Poems"––

His love-songs to the city, the bay and its bridge ––

Some of fishers casting nets above their natural side of the water,—

But all of the light, the light Ferlinghetti sees, and sees nowhere else,

And the Bridge, the Bridge,–– that Bridge piercing sun-colored,

The landscape of Saint Francis.

With Ferlinghetti's "San Francisco Poems"
A reading in December, holding fast to my edge of the continent,––

The hard drop of Truro, nor'easter slicing inland crossing the North

Atlantic, a light as much of steel as translucence, its blade of dissent

At the throat of my eye.

With Ferlinghetti's "San Francisco Poems"

A reading in December
He sings of its light, I read:

"..is none of your East-Coast light

                   none of your  

                               pearly light of Paris.."

Of the light he sees and sees nowhere else ––

    Ferlinghetti's singing as if ordained the warm-

Throated, love-

Sick 

    Bearded 

         Canary.

Wellfleet, Massachusetts