fog

Fog

                    —after Pascoli's "Nebbia"
Hide every distant thing,
you wan impalpable fog,
you smoke still tendrilling
           into dawn
from the crumbled landslides of air
           and night lightning.
Hide every distant thing
from me. Hide the dead.
That I might see only this hedge
           in the garden
and the valerian as it springs
           up through the garden wall.
Hide every distant thing;
they're all of them drunk on tears!
So I might see only the pear
           and apple trees,
which yield a smooth, soothing honey
           for my hard bread.
Hide every distant thing
that calls me to love and to leave.
So I might see only the white streak
           of road, down which one day
I'll keep shared time
           to the diminishing toll of the bell.
Hide every distant thing,
hide all of them, wing them
away from my heart. So I might see
           only the cypress tree
here, in the garden, where near
           to me, my dog drowses off.