Fog

One of those days when
the end of the dock disappears in
an impressionistic swirl of cloud,
when everything is washed paler and
silence echos for miles across the window of water.
Lying face down, I hung my head
over the edge, hair brushing the green water,
let the blood rush, let the world turn. Let my ears
roar, you beside me, the air so wet, so
full of things to say.

I'm worried- the movies in my head are on replay.
I'm waiting for reality. I've been looking for it but
it slips away- I'm not sure it's here,
among the palm trees and the bricks,
I keep looking but all I find is the green water
and the gray dock and your silence.