Tag Archives: fog

Out of the Fog

Out of the fog
the soft sound of
cottonwood leaves clicking
as the drops fall from
one leaf to another
down time
to the blurred
by the door of the hotel
swinging open.

The smell of eggs
in chafing dishes
and the mixture
of morning colognes.

I want to go back
to the fog outside
the long walk here
and find the wet bark
and soft click of leaves.

Copyright Kay Winter

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Collage Poem: Small Town Sea


1-They Never
They never went to the sea
that was past
their back yard
to the night sky
and small town stars
never slipped past the last lights
past the moonlight
on the north end Methodist stones
past the south end gas pumps headlights roadhouse

they never went to the east west
elm-shadowed oak-shadowed maple-shadowed
never stepped over fences
into dark mudded fields
tractor paths
drainage ditches
unfamiliar lost night

2-He Started

He started
inside autumn
coming out from
a golden willow
rake in hand
to the low fence
at the end of the leaf drifting lane
across the cornstalks
at last
stepping over the fence
into the last light

3-She Did

She was the only one
who really knew how to leave
November empty Tuesdays
disappearing between the
pinning up of plain white sheets
toward the fallen fence
at the end of her own street
into the east west trees
into fog
walking with a secret wild smile

4-I Was

I was nothing
until I followed her
from my school desk window
her gray coat a mystery
along the treeline
out of St. John the Baptist school
I followed her field row steps
in last week’s snow
dark plaid girl
over the same fallen fence
following into the east west fog
into fallow field row
into the prairie
into the white sky
in my wet school shoes
waiting with her
for the small town
sea sounds of empty trees.

– Copyright Kay Winter

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Ocean Metal Cloud

The day is like an ocean
of clear metal
tepid, muted, greengray, salty, fragrant with seamoss,
I smell the distant sounds of sunlight from above.
Ishmael and I stroll the early morning fog
on the pier in Grand Marais
and we are nothing like water at all.

But wait, what I really want to tell you
is that I still feel cold from that winter I spent in Thunder Bay,
killing two birds with one stone.

But today, the sea air causes the waves to freeze in place
(but only above the water line).
Ishmael says he wants a double-double at Timmy’s
and I want nothing, I say, the fragrant cloud of forgetting
and the erasure of memory is all that I want to remember.
Ishmael doesn’t want to sail, ever, or stay on land.
Katydid will go sailing, someday soon,
with vapor boats that do not need to float.
The clouds are all secret boats, it’s a fact.
“Wolken sinken wie Blei,” says a lonely dolphin,
swimming past.
The ocean replies with cloud and metal.

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