Too many mornings

Editing this post to add a second short poem, a badger’s hexastitch for Colleen’s last post of the year. It’s a version of the original poem beneath the photo.

Badger’s foggy morning

Cold clings
fence wire dripping
with fog-damp bird-silence
in these liminal days
of the year’s grey
dog-end.

Too many mornings

of imprecision
of cold-clinging
damp-falling
when trees are ghostly galleons
and clouds are seas
and the thin ribbon of the moon
is sunk in billows of fog.