I see the cool air
Blowing through the stone spires,
The same spires our grandfathers,
and our great grandfathers,
and our great great grandfathers,
Looked up to,
To wish for a better life on the foundation of others.
The bay that stabs the city has remained pristine,
Its aqua gleam illuminating the damp riverside roads
And its scent traveling to the fenced yards of the suburbs.
Pavement is picked up by precipitous peaks,
Sliding cars, lifting houses.
I see the city as it is,
Molded by old riches;
I see the shimmer, the gleam,
The beauty of the city of gold.