It took fog to realize
There is no use in growing
Things that grow will always be cut down
Dew on the grass, peppered by spider webs
Hills full of red angry fire ants

It took fog to remember
That I could always go back home
That I could skip the canal
And pick an orange straight from the tree
Peeling it with a rusted pocket knife
Would you sit in the grass with me?
The stick of the juice between your fingers

It took fog to show me
That I can still walk down the rows of sugar cane
After playing hide and seek
That I can still **** snakes
And get cut by the sawgrass

It took fog to remind me
That the mangroves were
Full of mosquitoes and fish
And the yellow sun
Was only a round disk
Through the fog

A single scrap of paper

and the child within me springs to life-

the child with bed head and a LEGO fascination-

leads me up and down stairs on all fours;

lights my face, shines my smile

soaks my senses- oversensitive;

takes a horizon, gives me an infinite shadow box;

takes a coincidence, gives me providence;

reminds me that some trees are ladders,

the others are giants, like buildings but wiser;

makes me giggle, as the circles untangle;

makes me ask myself,

Are they following us?

Who made this video game?  What's a boat made of waffles?

makes me too excited to eat; gives me dessert first;

lets me eat infinite Twizzlers;

lets me laugh at all of the sleepy adults,

and stay up late talking about collective consciousness;

lets me decide, "next time I'm going to the nature park",

as long as I can talk to all of the statues and sculptures on the way;

lets me write till there's no more room.

If this field is the earth's teal scalp,
then it's itchy, taught, and dry
lacking volume, moisture, shine
and in some spots split wide-open.

Or could this be one of Nature's plain reasons
To shut down for a nap through cold seasons.
Telling us to go home with our parts and our combs
but we're welcome to stay if we're broken.

I just want to understand
Someone else
For a single moment
But
I give up
Drink straight from the bottle
It drinks straight from me
I see seraphims and a calling hand
I hear it say my name