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