FOG

Summerdays I'm used to starting off in fog.
These white spaces vary in size and concentration
With the topography and the hour of day
And though they're fed by forces worldwide in scope
I experience them here with local emotions.

On an empty field from a dense layer close to the ground
A wisp of smoke detaches itself and floats up
Becoming more transparent with increased elevation.
In the same way the clear thought I reach for
Begins to fade and I have to let it go.

Beyond the flats along the river low hills appear
In silhouette as a series with graduating density
That terminates in the the distance at a dark contour.
When this happens I need to ask is it an opaque cloud
Or a solid mountain that somehow makes this fine line.

On the road below a pair of lights heads off
Into a white haze and a whipporwill with a crack
In its voice breaks out in a throaty gurgle.
Getting this on paper a flying insect whines and bites
And I listen and slap splattering blood and soggy tissue.

The lamp attracts a clumsy moth which crashes wall to wall.
Later in daylight it walks the upper window continually
Crisscrossing the length of it then drops and flutters back.
When it rests for a moment on the screen I think about
Getting up to free it but it flies off in the wrong direction.

Looking for a breeze the windows are open for the season.
At the gable end a bird call is muffled by the sound of water
And I hear the hollow drip and patter through the attic door.
On the other side rain in a heavy stream falls from the eaves
And a melody rises briefly from the spruce and juniper.

Cool air full of moisture in suspension sinks slowly
Down the slope in back gathering speed with time.
A tall pine nearby stands for a moment alone against it.
As each succeeding feature is covered by mist I feel the humid curtain
Moving toward me through the building cracks and crevices.

Today I have nothing more important to talk about than this.
I hope it burns off and tonight the black heavens
Over their entire extent are pierced by little holes
Through which rays of bright light glint and sparkle
Out of a universe of good weather on the other side.

Jay NY 8/5/94