I came for the fog.Not despite itfor it.For the way it removesthe need to know,the way it replacesthe horizon’s hard answerwith the soft questionof what might liejust beyondthe visible,which is alwaysmore interestingthan the visibleitself.
Mornings · II
The tire tracksgo somewhere.I don’t follow them.That’s the whole practicethe track that went,the evidence of going,and me standing herenot needing to know where,content with the factthat something movedthrough this fogbefore I arrivedand the sandremembered itthe way sand remembersbriefly,honestly,until the tidedecides otherwise.
Mornings · III
The horizon is level.How is that.Everything above it uncertain,everything below itmarked and crossedand complicatedwith the evidenceof lives going in every directionand the horizonjust there,perfectly level,the one linethat holds regardless,the counter-actionto every messyunbalancedhuman thingthat happens in front of it.
You can’t move it.You can’t tilt it.It just stays level.This is eitherthe most comforting thing in the worldor the most indifferentI have decided it is bothand that bothis the point.
Nature doesn’t follow rules.It only reacts.The fog didn’t comebecause the temperature asked nicelyit came because the conditionswere exactly what they wereand nobody had a voteand nobody needed one.
The beach doesn’t knowabout the divorce.The fog doesn’t knowabout the loneliness.The horizon doesn’t adjustfor the dayswhen you need it to be closer.It just holds.Level.Regardless.Offering nothingexcept its presencewhich is, on the foggy days,exactly enough.
Mornings · IV
The fog doesn’t answer.Neither does the horizon.Neither do the tracksgoing somewhereI didn’t followinto the whitethat is not emptybut fullof everythingI don’t need to knowto feel.
I want to float on the fog.Not escape into itfloat on it,the way you lie backinto waterthat is cold at firstand thenjust water,just holding,just the bodygiven overto something largerthat doesn’t mind.
Later,when the fog liftsor doesn’t,a dog will run by.And I will chase itinto the waterand be a kid againfor exactlyas long as it takeswhich is alwaysexactlylong enough.
Until thenthe fog,the level horizon,the tracks in the sand,and me,standing here,not needing to know,
just feeling it, all of it, including the parts that are cold at first.
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