EARLY MORNING MIST
A soft breath has come to earth.
It must have paused a moment before
lowering its gentle weight upon the autumn fields,
before consenting to be contoured by the hills.
Now a muffled animal, it settles down
and spreads itself across the stubble,
threads its way among the lower branches of the spruce,
and brushes its back against the alder grove.
It weaves a shy course through the cattails
and strokes its cool palm over the hushed pond.
Its beauty comes from what it is –
unconcocted and easeful in its being;
neither rising nor falling, it takes the light
and comes or goes according to the way things are.
It bends its form to the world’s shape.
Here, for this morning, this day,
a presence not meant to stay.
—Brent MacLaine. Prometheus Reconsiders Fire. The Acorn Press, 2016.
Deirdre Kessler selects a poem a month by an Island poet for The Buzz.