The Poet in Fog

Morning on a mountain trail,
trees shed their sharp outlines,
and the sky turns to silver.
Luminous veils swathe branches
as fog engulfs the forest
and a shade of translucent pearls
descends around you.
Mist obscures distance, blurs
what is close at hand,
upsets your perception
of near and far,
up and down.
This place you thought
you knew looms larger,
space stretched,
shapes twisted.
Droplets jewel spider webs,
give them heft, solidity,
while spruce and fir seem
insubstantial as gossamer.
Colors dissolve. Your ears,
full of fluff, muffle sounds.
You inhale sodden air,
breathe in a piece of the sky,
open your mouth and taste
droplets on your tongue.
A poem swirls about you
like a long silky skirt
as you dance inside a cloud.
Alone in this vaporous landscape,
you are untethered, free
of the obligations of gravity.

***

Lois Levinson is a member of the Poetry Book Project at Lighthouse Writers Workshop in Denver, Colorado, where she is working on the manuscript of her first book. Her poems have appeared in Bird’s Thumb, Clementine Poetry Journal, The Corner Club Press, These Fragile Lilacs and Mountain Gazette.