Foggy Morning

I like a foggy morning

    with its graceful revelations.

The way it whispers with no argument

    where the high places are, and the low.

The trees rest a little longer

    and wear their gowns til ten.

Shadow-lovers linger later in the cloud

    and amble slowly to their dens

Under gently dripping leaves

    turning quietly toward the sun.

This is the soft earth,

    the kind earth,
    the respite,
    the cease-fire.

8/29/2008

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