From Where I'm Sitting

Flames lick fake wood

never burning—

for now.

Soon the sun will rise

before I do,

but not today.

Today’s glorious sunrise

show is hidden, however,

by mists that roll

over mountains, meld

into Sound, hover

over harbor contained

in faint trace of land.

Come out, Sunshine.

Ingest dense moisture

cover.

Come out, Mountains.

Reveal your dimensions,

their grand cascade.

I know you are there

where I should see you

from where I’m sitting.

* * *

Photo by Nick Bolton on Unsplash

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Janet Benlien Reeves

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