The Mystery Poem

Those who've been reading this space for a while may recall that I linked to this letter, which Dr. Omed has posted on his Tent Show. Toward the end of the letter, I make reference to a poem on the flip side. During my recent journey through the archives (see entry posted at 4:34 a.m.), Dr. Omed showed me the referenced letter and poem.

As it turns out, the poem was written on a seperate sheet of paper. I'm not certain it works, but I reproduce it here, in the spirit of full disclosure.

Morning Fog

I.
The morning walked in as fine mist
snuggling clock tower heights
skimming sidewalk cracks.

The evening shone into awnings,
lit the dark high & low ways,
clouded the trees.

Between morning & evening,
the wind blow slow, leaf-like —
light droplets prepare
to be chilled into snow.

II.
I drew a rainbow on my window,
with four fingers revealed
all the colors of a slick winter night.
   4.XII.80

III.
It is a morning fog
true, thick, deep
with no ideals, no dreams

The face of fog
is indistinct
A mirror to carlights

I have seen this face
before
The first time I saw the face
of fog
The wind was cool
Water towers lumbering giants

Poets have called fog like this home
But it is more for phantoms
like me
It has a gentle honesty,
Mist slumbering on warm windows.
   23.XII.80