Foggy

The fog confuses me.
Its disorienting distances
Make me feel
Alone.

Colors dissolve like pigments in a puddle.
The grey hidden places outside whisper
To the grey areas I have hidden within me.
It’s hard to distinguish image from imagination.

The air and water couple in the harbor and its sky
And in me too, I suppose.

Liquid pinpricks resist,
And invite me.

Voices are the flat monotones
Of people at night in another room.

The wet flag clings, like a sheer miniskirt,
To its long-legged pole.

It’s wet and fecund, seductive and scary.

This is tricky territory.