Poem: Andean Sunrise

Andean Sunrise

Fog in the valley
like so much ocean brine,
or a September evening's frost,
swaddles the mountains,
leaving only the peaks
seen below the forest.

The sun is low --
not yet out of her damping bed --
but from the fog-sea at the horizon
is sending rays to chase the clouds
back to the forest.

Now I think,
while the forest is merely awak'ning,
and not yet awake and alive;
I stare at the fog-sea,
the sun's blanket,
and grip the mossy tree.