lifted into
clouds or pressed by heavens
coming down?
lifted into
clouds or pressed by heavens
coming down?
fog clothes us and
blurred balls of colored light lead
somewhere hidden
as if the city’s
breath would not go—morning
veiled
in dawn’s fog, this
city made of light went
dim
spying where
blue herons look, necks craned
through fog
surprise fog
and all the signs smudged,
just legible
gray—the sun
won’t rise or the earth isn’t
tipping toward light
water’s weight
in air—time supplied
to swim through
sun and fog
cooperating only
in erasure
a ledge found in fog—
another step the sole
footfall left