Belonging
Summer fog.
The air thick and warm
with a closeness gathering in
the early morning as if all
that it shrouds share
a common breath.
Everything holds together,
birds, water, the pebbled shoreline,
as a cormorant dives
downwards through the still,
its underwater wings stirring
the cloudy strands
of last nights dreams.
I feel it surface somewhere
in me with a shadow
clamped in its beak.
A few early walkers
emerge, pass by, then dissolve
back into the morning without
so much as a ripple.
The fog follows me,
quietly closing up the hole
I leave. I fear if I make
a sound or move out
of this space,
the morning will collapse
into a hot, harsh and angry day,
pushing everything away,
back into the lonely enclosures
of its dislocated parts.
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