Poem: In Fog


In Fog

In morning fog, just through the soggy mist
I can barely make out, across a green field,
a crane.

It is a morning requiring prepositions.

I step out of my car for pictures.
Camera in hand, it’s beauty all around:
behind, ahead, beneath, beside,
at my feet, over my head, next to my skin.

I am inside clouds that have come down.

And then, a little farther on my drive,
above me the sun strains to break through.
The clear sky brings
little need of qualifiers, conditionals, parsings.

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