Sky may be clear up there somewhere
but try telling that to a landscape
clasped by morning mist.
Maybe the quiet water is to blame,
Or droplets set free by the grasses.
But details float like flotsam in the fog,
refuse to make themselves whole.

On the far side of the lake,
cottages serenely sink
in beds of clouds;
Between the brown head
of a spotted fawn
and its swishing tale
trembles a body of liquid crystals.

Sun struggles to break through
but is caught in the nets
like a dolphin at sea.
It sets everything aglow
even if can’t come up with
the clarity it seeks.
Every surface shimmers
like it’s being blessed.
Even my own wish for light
is satisfied.