Sunday fog is more meaningful
than Thursday fog
or Tuesday fog
or other days with fog
that no one particularly cares for.
Tuesday fog is parking
your car in the ocean.
Everything you say is a sloppy gurgle,
every word is finding
nuts and screws strewn about the beach
instead of shells.
Thursday fog attempts to hide
all the murders in the world
with white gauze. Still the
blood soaks through in spots
and all you can do is pray
for the ambulance of Friday.
Sunday fog is public radio.
You might learn something,
find a warm cup of coffee
in a frozen field full
of respectful plants and animals
with their genus and species
printed on their sides.
In Sunday fog, you feel Vivaldi,
at any moment
will walk out of the centuries
in a hotel bath robe,
hand you a Croissant,
and smile.
