The curve of roof echoes the roll of golden 
coast hills solidified in travertine 
marble.  In front, the reflecting pool’s eye, 

where the dome, the city’s past, floats is split 
by swans. Once a city built from redwood 
plank and gold dust, until earth shook it down 

to mud and ash. In 1915, twelve 
plaster palaces bloomed from the ruined 
Marina.  For nine months, San Francisco 
grew fat again with visitors and fame. 

The exhibition ends. Palaces razed.  
Only this mute Roman structure remains
crowned in weeping stone maidens who, 
whisper back to us in sea wind, bird song.