Not long ago I sat here with my mother.
Just looking at the waters was
enough, she said.
Now, I feel the breath of life
rise and fall with the ripples of the bay,
see the Golden Gate slip into darkness
as the gulls cry.
Men ready their boats for rest.
Clouds drift, thin wisps tufted with pale yellow.
Moon slivers out.
Night settles our lives.
I breathe in my
mother’s words, breathe
in the breath she gave me,
give it back now to the bay.