Morning Fog
Morning fog
softens trees to
shadows, new forms emerge from
what isn’t seen
The dog is hauling deer parts from
treasure-spotting, soon
he’ll have enough to build his own
Moment new and old, I’ve been
here before, but not this
here, this moment
wondering what the week will bring
or take
I have no more mooring than the
cloud-bound trees, a lone
dove huddles, where is the
flock
Then it is here, jostling,
pecking, and you wonder
why you wondered
Safety in numbers only goes
as far as the beak
at your back, the tiny
toenails decked in
innocent down
The sun rises, fog burns, the dog
trots back proud with the latest
haul, and the doves all
lift their wings