the sun before the fog

this poem rests
stomach bully
belly
fully
on a warm lazy
chair

outdoor the chair,
this is a fresh air poem,
it is, it is

the breeze is soft
fog wants to come
waiting
massing
curling up in the hills
or are the mountains
to the west

sun still
plenty
bright shimmer off
leaves
oak
willow,
redwood even

birds call

yeah, yeah, and cars, too
swoosh by
no heaven
here

but close enough
or maybe it is heaven
isn't that in
what we are loving
and allowing

the breeze
the sun
the fog
waiting

later
the gray will come

now:
bright
free
easy
clear