Pacific northwest winter mornings
shrouded in fog – cold, dense, dripping
from evergreen branches, fir and cedar,
sifting through blurred spaces and still swirls.

I see what is out there in the reaches
beyond the gray shadows laying
silent in the movement of days gone
away, lost in memory, shaken
awakened from the depths of slumber.

As a child I lay in bed
listening for the sound of trains
passing in the night; in the darkness
to the deep and resonant sound
from across the bay, of a foghorn
wakening the night, putting me to sleep
as if it were my own mother
coming to calm the terrors of my night.

Portland, Oregon – February 19, 2019