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Morning’s piercing, golden light
found its way through the drapes' narrow divide
to my bed and bruised my sleeping eyes,
and thus awoke me with a not-so-gentle nudge
I pulled myself out of my warm, ruffled bed covers
and walked, nude, towards the balcony to see
God’s dawning eye reflect upon turbulent seas
It was then I became transfixed upon the imagery
of the bright, orange orb rising o’er
Earth’s grey, calm rim
Slowly and surely
as did the bay’s surface-level fog create a surreal sense
of reality as tankers and freighter ships
appeared to be floating mid-air
hovering between the here and there
It was as though le Mont Saint Michelle
was just south of the Chesapeake Bay,
enshrouded by fog, yet piercing its morphing, opaque scarf
and thus I was captivated
as I gazed upon Earth’s rim and the ships
floating in a sea of emergent, transforming fog
washed in translucent yellow-orange light
I reflected upon the sea, and it upon me, and thus
I walked to my mirror
and looked upon myself, bearded, naked and perplexed,
It was as though
I’d been floating in life’s opacity
for these many months
wondering about reality and what is
and is not
The ships phased in and out of the fog
and I remained invisible upon my balcony’s edge
I’m but an old and weary man who’s looking upon sea swells
while pondering life’s divine design
as shifting fog and moored ships entwine
2 April 2016
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