Fog Autumn

Fog Autumn

Bheka Pierce

Across the valley, there,

In the trees above the meadow,

Can you see them,

The gray granite house,

The kitchen window lantern lit,

The gray wood-weathered barn?

This morning’s mist whorls

Like the summer hornets’

Nest that hung in the eaves

And which you said we were

Not God enough to bother.

It will come on drizzle

Before breakfast.

If we get no closer,

We will wonder

Where the rocks stop

And the rain begins.