Saturday, June 21, 2014


I breathe with the wind on the bay
Dragging in a great dragon
Of fog from under the bridge.
It’s tail disappears around Alcatraz.
Horns herald its coming
In stereo
Hi — Low.
There is an inevitability of
Seeking solid land.

It moves with a constancy
Little known in this world
Steady, onward
Hour after hour.
I expect it to blanket
Everything I know.

But it does not happen.
It does not build upon itself.
It does not gather a force
And spill over
To new territory.
We do not always know
The outcome of these things.

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