Fog On The River
The hulls of small boats
drop down into the morning fog
then return like rising seagulls.
The moored
slip in and out of the mist
then return painted
by a deep diving sky.
Sinking or flying, the small craft
slip through our vision
like leaking ghosts.
They roll upon an obscure air
shipping cloudy waves,
a swell last seen
in shipwrecked teacups.
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