Saturday, August 29, 2015

August Fog

Unusual for this time and place
as there is no harbour.

I watch it roll across the tree tops
so mysterious that it hides the sun.

A plane takes off invisibly,
lost in the roar of flight.

The garden is still as if a haunting
has just taken place.

I remember Sandburg's fog,
the little cat's feet, the haunches-

and am suddenly humbled
by the history of words.

- Debbie Calverley

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