Poem: Grasp

If-the-Fog-Lifts_Megan_Aline-318x315
If the Fog Lifts, by Megan Aline

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mist disappears into clear air
Turns into the space between us

We once were something no one could hold
All could see, none would breathe

It was an occurrence that clings under limbs
We were a paring like Lady Slipper and Pine

Reach for yesterdays fog
Grasp at straws that floss between fingers

 

-by SPL

 

Poetry: September Bellingham

Down the hill my city sits
Waves nip at its hair
Freeway scratches the belly
Mountains hold down its hip
Low mist rolled in early,
refuses to leave this cove
Down into the clouds I walk,
floating up into a subdued world
Here exhales are marked,
Talk can be seen
Sun baths buildings
in a peach-warm glow
as it fights the floating moisture
that crowns my
September Bellingham
Noon-thirty,
visibility still only four blocks.
The sun burns while seagulls
dance in the sky
Photo by Matthew Anderson/WWU
Bellingham in morning fog, September 2012