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Fog
Gone are the dazzling red-yellows
no leafy heads, no broken boughs
Gone is the cottage near where guests overnight
no fleeing fence, no sallow grass
Gone is the county blacktop leading to the pond
no round bales, no stubbled field
Gone is the strong-minded tool shed
no woody things, no toothy rake
no wheelbarrow, no potting soil
Gone are towering poles
no wires strung across the blue beyond
no doves resting atop necklace chains
Gone are the mountains up close and distant
no deer, no rabbits, no squirrels
Gone is the river weaving its way south
no jumping trout, no current, no shore
Gone is the neighbor’s humble house
no porch familiar, no warm cheer
Gone are moon and sun and sky
no explanation left behind
Gone are shadows and shine
no life to see—only white
November fog.
Pat Durmon, 2012
Gone are the dazzling red-yellows
no leafy heads, no broken boughs
Gone is the cottage near where guests overnight
no fleeing fence, no sallow grass
Gone is the county blacktop leading to the pond
no round bales, no stubbled field
Gone is the strong-minded tool shed
no woody things, no toothy rake
no wheelbarrow, no potting soil
Gone are towering poles
no wires strung across the blue beyond
no doves resting atop necklace chains
Gone are the mountains up close and distant
no deer, no rabbits, no squirrels
Gone is the river weaving its way south
no jumping trout, no current, no shore
Gone is the neighbor’s humble house
no porch familiar, no warm cheer
Gone are moon and sun and sky
no explanation left behind
Gone are shadows and shine
no life to see—only white
November fog.
Pat Durmon, 2012
