Sunday, October 25, 2009

a poem about the fog along the San Diego coast line


Fog along the coast

It's been fog for days
seeping up the canyons
and billowing over the hills,

limbs of trees stricken
with ghost whispers
singing of old frayed lace
on the ocean air,

the paths to work
are crossed with tire chains
and smashed milk cartons
glistening on the shoe prints
that cross over from a busy street
to an adjoining garage,

at the top of the hill
the coast line is gone
with the view filled with
teeming clouds and a solid blue horizon
that makes it seem
all the houses and university parking
will fly off into a void
uncharted by math

or bad novels
about people who
look like friends
who you've never seen
in fog banks
that hang on the air like damp, thin linens,

we don't live up to our letters of introduction
when the morning air
unlocks our hair
from position and
the crease in our slacks vanishes
along with the hard edge of
familiar buildings ,

we smile, we put away the lunch we brought,
we straighten our ties,
we do the best we can.

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