Arts + Scene » Poetry

My Inner Fog



Hugs coastlines,
Rolls over bottomlands,
Saunters up hills
Steeped in redwoods
And other artifacts
That measure time,

Settling on
Everything that moves,
Or sits patiently
Waiting for a sign
That the Earth still
Spins West to East.

I am bending
To the notions
Hidden in fog.


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