(Trees In Fog, San Jose)
With infinite silence
the fog creeps
with tendril fingers
winding softly,
over my eyes
until everything is cured
of lines, corners, bodies.
I am a ship
a ship, moving
with
tenuous,
groping careful sails
through the uncharted
weather
blurred tomorrow endings.
Hello,
where are you ?
I hear the bell ringing
on all sides
large boats turn around and
around
slowly lumbering
caught in eddies
whirled about and then
tossed
like a worthless fish
right back where they
started
wherever that is.
Fog
the unexplored ocean
the ghostly blessing
of water
upon the land.
do you know it?
no.
no one knows
anything
about the fog.
I like this meditation on fog... the observation of how it rounds off everything, makes the world indefinite, tentative. In "A Long Night's Journey to Dawn" Eugene O'Neill's addicted heroine says, "I love the fog."
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