The Fog

The Fog glances at me, as if
I am a seventh morning
in black coat prayer.

Twice, I have been veiled by
The Fog.
Twice, I have ridden wounded winds
to secretly watch
dead men bathe in weakness.

I have hidden in The Fog from
from shame. But, guilt has giant hands that reach
deep, plucking sin from a wrecked womb,
pulling it out,
into the open world.

The Fog glances at me because she
knows me. She floats toward me with her warm, white
blanket, wrapping me up,
away from sneer’s,
away from shame.

8 thoughts on “The Fog

  1. That’s a wonderful imagery of birth you’ve given. It’s shameful that birth has been so disgraced in some culture, being linked to sin. We all love a blanket to keep us warm, keeping us alive.

    • incredibly stupid for anyone or any culture to link birth with sin. but they have to. if they’re going to claim that absolutely everyone is a sinner and must beg for forgiveness, then they must find a contrived way to label us all as having sinned. there’s only one thing we all do, and that’s to be conceived and born.

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