transparency

 

the early hours of the morning

are filled with fog

hiding the places that are beyond 

the white stone cabaña and its garden

the hill of eucalyptus trees across the ravine gone

the only way to know the difference between fog and clouds

is by their distance from the ground

yet here this ground is so far above the sea

how can one really know the difference between singular and plural at these heights?

fog and clouds? a memory and the real thing? the thoughts blowing through us and a storm? melting snow and a rock or a river?

the cold moisture in the air feels like snow

the whiteness of snow and fog call to one another 

through time and space which may not exist

I stand just outside the cabaña

in a shower of green branches

a demure droplet encompassing the world in its sphere 

gathers at the end of each pirul leaf

as morning proceeds the fog moves up the hills

and becomes clouds

and sunlight illuminates the abundance of leaves in the garden

it is as though they glow from within

each diminute droplet has vanished

leaving only its transparency

—Lorena Wolfman (19-2-22)