Sunday, April 10, 2011

Fog by the Lake

I did not expect the familiar
to deceive, guises
in damp gray:
blocks I have learned to call
and a former restaurant with
its main claim to fame, a view of our lake.

My wool scarf is wet
with the drops fallen
from splaying branches by the water
and I go in circles
into the unknown, where even the sun
is a muted orb of its true self,
and I am careful lest
feeling my freedom I go out
too far on the breakwater.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Go to the edge. It is there your idea of the world can change.