i scoured the bookstore shelves
for the perfect guide to san fran
which only exists as a vision
like the images marco polo painted
in calvino's invisible cities

in book after book, pages
were missing or lost
the index had forgotten
kearny street workshop
somArts center, the i-hotel

instead i found jack kerouac
a dead beat's ghost lingering
in borders instead of city lights
where is wittman ah sing
when i need a dose of truth

to tell me i'm wrong
that anywhere else
but not in San Francisco
our histories here
are not so invisible