Bruno Ganz, on a quayside, somewhere in Europe. Photo in the NY Times, a decade back. Saved, the figure in the long coat, alone, walking with his dog...one ship, somewhere in the distance. Transposed here, more the sound of foghorns out on the bay, the Golden Gate, hidden, in the mist... Walking along the docks, that would have been 1955--a working port, freighters and longshoremen, cargo nets, cranes...the sailors' joints tucked away under the Bay Bridge, more by reputation... Staying somewhere downtown, awake at dawn, first cable car to Fisherman's Wharf... Crab pots, Monterey hulls, the life of the sea...
(for Nathan Kernan)
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