A Morning Fog

A fog rests on the lake,

cold air confronting the warmth of summer water,

obscuring the far shore, a faint line, jagged

in the opaque whiteness of diffused light;

the far end of the dock, too, is blurred,

barely visible, only a gray outline of post and board,

an artist’s first sketch on a blank canvas, lightly drawn,

the soft pounding of the boat, muted, as it rocks there

in this world, wet in the early morning chill,

a world, otherwise, silent, in silence shrouded.