Why does every bright day with wind
arrive like San Francisco in '68?
The fog pouring in like horses
over the Golden Gate and the cough
of seals down at Fisherman's Wharf.
City Lights opens its narrow stair
and Ferlinghetti is there at the top
to turn and welcome you
with his slow smile. And the feeling
of reaching toward the bread
of something substantial, the bread
not yet broken, the sacrifice not yet made,
the world still a kingdom to be discovered.