exhaust above a side street, white into night sky
up from the high tide line, from one-story, sprawling waterfront,
unseen, unheard, from up here among houses
down there machinery going on unstopping into Saturday night
escaped steam unrolling, dwarfing houses and firs unstirred by the wind,
the cold and tide shaping it, it lit from below by a thousand unseen sodium vapor lights
coniferous, tangible as a Van Gogh starry night

we do things once (any more), and rarely rest
we prefer to design something digitally, from an office chair
have something read about in a magazine for lunch, and move on

the work of hands is puny, almost humorless, unless it is medicine, done by microscope.
doctors doing surgery listening to oldies radio. architects watching Glee as they model in 3d.
nothing so pedestrian as repetition, as craft. stitches but not braces. rigor and status,
comfortable wages, but nothing crass as a stain, a smudge, a worn cuff or glove

the San Francisco offices of Pinterest are a few doors down from the solar array of an REI
which is not far at all from a Trader Joes and a Peet’s Coffee & Tea. no-one I know
goes around the corner to the Fort Help Methadone center. but not far from there, just .7 miles north on Seventh,
you come to Morphosis’ Federal Building, super green, super industrial looking, all metal veil
and panels that act as thermal sinks in the afternoons, creating air flow without coal

I don’t know. I just feel like we are pretty sophisticated. as a culture. that we’ll – his voice trailing off.
that we’ll figure it out? laughing, her eyes on her phone, checking messages.
him – I wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow.
her – you’re going in? on a Sunday again?
them – drinking coffee, scarves and his hat in a pile.
framed by a chain store window of balanced neutrals, sharply dressed, smooth skin.
pushing off in another minute.

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