Poem of Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The Changing Light

 

 

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 has 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