Mark J. Mitchell

She had some Alcatraz rabbit in her blood—
Chasing justice or ice or secrets,
she would disappear sometimes.

But, just as the bridge summons fog
and a bay sings to that bridge,
she knows she will return

to where that cool caress
first baptized her, to where beauty
called her beauty by name.

Light seeks light—she seeks brilliant shadows
on this pastel gray city that always
calls her home to me.