fog

the fog it rolls arriving nowhere

from here we watch it a short film

stuck in a loop with stops: the clearcut

boundary creating wilderness where forgotten

delivering walled comfort where

none ever existed

it is night cold

arriving before sun setting now

the drop of seasons into one
of dropped leavings

at least in our memory of the east:

hills stamped a red giant star's palette
of warmth

another last breath of life

our mother she once deserved respect

never for beauty but for fear earned

unless unless
that boundless slope beyond:

a sea for mills and you a life turned silk

deep earth bought privilege

and privilege bought this luxury

to bring it to art and object

and destination on a park-way

but hardly art will it be still

when the wilds reclaim

and the fog rolls back and on