Mist

Earth breath, flower breath, tree breath… The river itself
a matter of belief, phantom birds arrowing
through veils of nothingness. Up on the cliffs:
the light is metallic, unstable, as in
an old film; the sun's pollined heart stays trapped
behind thick petals of cloud. Waves fountain,
nimbus-backed, as if white were inside
everything, and mist deeper inside that white.
The horizon appears — an unwalked path
beyond grey fields mazed with footprints of light.
Clouds bloom, the day opens its window wide,
lets the steam out. A heron peers from a rail,
at its beak's tip a drop of salt water
that globes this sunwarmed, clear moment.