We're showing off San Francisco to
the new girl in our sorcery school.
She senses (and thus, I fear, may lure)
beings from other planes--though I'm unsure
whether they're animals, people, or
transhuman forces--weaves of pure power!
A shadow falls. Look up. Past glass towers
a silent slice of bright orange ring
skyfloats, linked to a rod blocks long.
Starship, or praying mantis? This thing
she's drawn is... how vast? Can't see it all--
the scrapers hide wide swaths. Below,
pigeons, cars and crowds all fall
hushed, still as eclipse. And we too go
silent, bow heads, close eyes. Off it glides,
a King Kong crab. Or ship. Or geometric cloud.
Slowly terror fades; we dare to talk aloud.
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Talk with a classmate I've longed to befriend:
small, lovely, brilliant. But shadowed by
that awful levitant, all we can talk
is shop: such inadvertent gramarye.
We've evolved the same method to
keep Godzillas from breaking through:
mentally, we fire-walk round
their outlines. Soul-silhouettes!
We think round unthinkables, and yet
never think of them, and thus do not
manifest Things we might regret.
At least not often. Not fatally. Yet.
Here in the City, our caution feels right.
Mages dwell on lonely shores
not for their own peace and quiet!
For yours, my friend. For yours.
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