Fog
by Pamela Den Ouden
It saunters in
Rolling over the threshold
Curling itself up in the corner
Like an old grizzled dog
It carries the smells
Of pine sap and dank leaves
The undersides of stones
Slough water and dead fish
In heaven there is no fog
Nothing to cloud the eye or chill the bone
The river of life--unlike the Fraser--
Sparkles beneath a glorious sun
