medford courtship song, or three instances of fog

in the fog that you
had probably grown up in

forever. I got
lost and thought of past cowboys

in the middle of
this cloud who, staying out too

late, might not be found until
morning.

II.
Another fog: I
woke up so early without

having dreamt at all
and not wanting to stay on

til the civil dawn
I left town and headed south

and there surrounded
me such a blinding mist that I

was worried that I
might not see again, or be

transfigured into
something unfamiliar;

scare my mother, or
have trouble at the borders.

But near Phoenix there
was a fissure and light burst

through: first a trickle, then a
cataract.

seeing you is like
some nebulous leak of light:

grows like water running through
the clouds.

so do I need to
describe how my saddle creaks

in the middle of the field,
and I on horseback,
looking up.