Truth Gleams Like A Torch In The Fog

Fog Horn

The fog horn is low and chasing.
The pattern of skin – like scales – is suddenly evident.
My thumb holds the page I write on.
If I am patient and careful, the words appear.
Mysteriously, from the page.
My mind calls out to them, slow and quiet.
There's a throbbing in the paper,
like a heartbeat on the waves.
And I can hear the fog horn,
late at night, when my mind's a jumble
and my heart is cautious and afraid of
drowning.

~Hammeh