Clouds on the ground.
That is all fog is.
A friend once told me that she didn’t believe that.
Maybe she knew more than I:
All fog is swirling patterns of pale pearl
carefree and light as air
like vaporized mystery,
a plane for games of peek-a-boo
with dark ominous shapes -
hides the world
until you can’t see the steps ahead.
All fog is a dirty curtain
that is as likely to reveal something beautifully unexpected
as hide the tragic path of speeding cars until a muffled crash
makes its way through the bright gloom.
Sometimes fog is a reflection of my thoughts
overflowing, so all I see
are glimpses of ideas and feelings -
moving too fast -
until it seems that everything is swirling out of control
and will fall to scattered pieces in the darkness
Fall, 2017 Issue