Golden Fog

The world is a wall of whiteness.
Air or stone watches me steadily;
I keep up the walking.

A chimney lets out wools of breath.
The first old tram,
Colour of sage,

Parts the diaphanous flesh.
For a long time
Outlines of distance are

Dissolving; the next yard is safe.
My bones carry a quiet.
Soon, they melt into farness —

An illuminated way through
The day, tomorrow,
Of love and meaning and golden skies.

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