Flames lick fake
wood
never burning—
for now.
Soon the sun will
rise
before I do,
but not today.
Today’s glorious
sunrise
show is hidden,
however,
by mists that
roll
over mountains, meld
into Sound, hover
over harbor contained
in faint trace of
land.
Come out, Sunshine.
Ingest dense
moisture
cover.
Come out, Mountains.
Reveal your dimensions,
their grand
cascade.
I know you are
there
where I should
see you
from where I’m
sitting.
* * *
Photo by Nick Bolton on Unsplash
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