A Fog

A fog lay over us all
for some few days now too
In and out the sound breathes
The day and the night
dressed in the mist

I wear it about me like a cloak

From here upon the hill’s top
I can watch it waft in one win­dow
and out the other

Joy­ously it is weather
North­west style

Being the child of the times
from which I came
I look out upon the fog
and see visions of the moors
Quiet, and still, and unmov­ing
For­bid­ding nonetheless

Or in a more urban vein
with the sound of hoof on cob­ble
and the slap of leather rein
I see street and alley
Per­haps foot­man and atten­dant too
Gen­tle­man in fine dress
out for evening sport
or liai­son less respectable

But too
on Amer­i­can bat­tle­field
I see sol­diers line on line
cold and hunger still
yet fac­ing each other
broth­ers
soon to add the burnt pow­der
from their shot and can­non flare
to the fog that lay all about

Or from high moun­tain spine
I look down on val­ley and dale
and watch the mist climb
never to reach me
sit­ting here in the sun
above it all for this small time

Not for me yet
are the mem­o­ries of this fog
upon these streets
with no retreat
hun­gry and alone
unable to escape
with the street, my home
and my mind not my own

I wear it about me like a cloak

And so you see
what you can see
par­tially revealed
and par­tially concealed

through no inten­tion of my own
but only the nature
of the weather
and the cli­mate
in these times
in this place

upon these words
and the many more
that pre­ceded
and that will follow

Word Counts — Today: 0 | Jan­u­ary: 930 | 2010: 930

Tagged as: fog, salish sea, sound, weather