Genre: Poetry
From the 11th floor where I work
you cannot see the river
You can see the morning mist rising from it, though
Along a barely visible split that meanders
between the patchwork trees of the forest preserve:
red, gold, green, brown
Before the day officially starts
you can stand at the picture window
high up off the ground
and watch the mist gather up its blanket
returning to the atmosphere
leaving the unseen river bare
to push
you cannot see the river
You can see the morning mist rising from it, though
Along a barely visible split that meanders
between the patchwork trees of the forest preserve:
red, gold, green, brown
Before the day officially starts
you can stand at the picture window
high up off the ground
and watch the mist gather up its blanket
returning to the atmosphere
leaving the unseen river bare
to push