The changing light at San Francisco
      is none of your East Coast light
           none of your
             pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
          is a sea light
                                   an island light
And the light of fog
            blanketing the hills
     drifting in at night
            through the Golden Gate
                     to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
   after the fog burns off
      and the sun paints white houses
                    with the sea light of Greece
          with sharp clean shadows
             making the town look like
                    it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o’clock
                                             sweeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
                when the new night fog
                                                     floats in
And in that vale of light
                        the city drifts
                                        anchorless upon the ocean