Welcome
Illusion
In the fog, maidenhair moss hangs from an ancient oak,
water drips into your hair. You sense the expansive
view across the ocean to another country,
San Juan, Orcas and Mount Baker,
but you see nothing inside this cloud,
a plane drones, a boat murmurs
and a foghorn moans.
Mist beads on your cheeks and eyes,
close and intimate as a lover
who evaporates
and reappears
a mountain soaring above low clouds
strong and solid, to hold you
close and true.
