MORNING FOG AS

METAPHOR FOR DENIAL

Spring set you down

on the bluff, a blindfold

on the face of the day—

white noise, fur

and salt, shaggy giant

breathing over the deep.

Sweep your grey

beard through salvia,

gooseberry and aster,

dampen the croak of the waking

heron as a gathering blue

riddles your back, an upwelling

of cold your belly.

This is the pause

just before you burn.

Published in Crab Creek Review, Spring 2020