Eat the Fog

Can’t see the water. Can’t see the sky. Just a wall of white where the whole world hides. Boats disappear a hundred yards out. The bell keeps ringing, then the sound fades down. Somewhere above me, lost from my sight, the sun’s trying to eat the fog one little bite at a time. First comes a shadow. Then comes a line. Then the gray starts glowing like a coal come alive. Trees find their edges. The shoreline comes through. A piece of the water starts turning blue. The morning ain’t winning, but it’s putting up a fight. The sun keeps trying to eat the fog one little bite at a time. Now the white starts lifting, rolling off the bay. What covered the whole world is burning away. The islands come crawling back into view. Boats leave their shadows and come cutting through. What looked like forever couldn’t last past nine. The sun keeps eating through the fog one burning bite at a time. Then the whole sky opens. The whole bay shines. Every hidden piece of it falls back into line. The rocks and the harbor, the gulls and the pines— Like the world was never missing, just waiting on time. Sometimes what surrounds you ain’t the end of the road. Sometimes you keep standing till the light starts to show. The sun ate the fog. The water came home. And everything waiting was there all along. The sun ate the fog. Now the whole morning shines