Morning Fog from the Fifth Floor

 

Yesterday morning the fog sat full on the head

like a bowler pulled down to ears and eyebrows.

I experienced it from the fifth floor of our building

looking out over roofs and treetops... a tower.

The clouds, unable to fly high, rested on the earth

where I breathed in their cool air and water vapor.

It was womb-like in the lack of light, enveloped by 

moisture, and hearing the heart beat of Our Mother.

I am a fish out of water in so many ways, having 

lost the routine of moon cycles and predictable waves.

I am too dry, not sure why, wanting to cry and water

the earth with repentance, to regain reconciliation.

Yesterday morning the fog sat full on my heart,

heavy hands rhythmically pumping up and down,

like a code had been called in this hospital on the 

fifth floor to try and bring me back to life.

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