[Instructions: Listen to Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel Galileo while reading]

Fog Just another echo within this panoramic mist, Secretly hiding within a social mess. Abridging these gaps of rhyme and reason, Attaching subtext to words that hold no meaning. Can you move through this fog without superstition? Is it possible to run without stumbling on your premonitions? And this fog, this cloud in my eyes, Holds so much levity for the themes we strive. This white cloud of water vapor, of moistures gas, This undesirable which we hope will eventually pass. Beloved foggy figures in the distant light, Hopelessly making out what is wrong from right. Enlightening silhouettes by the shapes you pose, Entitled minds by the actions they chose. For it is you, when it was once me, This insistence pursued by the chance of a dream. Where every step forward, feels like one befallen, In a realm built on the echoes of those who have been forgotten. And I say this, so that this might be said, I second your opinion, because theres no true answer to be read. For a line in the sand is just as evident as, The dust in the wind or the place the wildfire began. Echo and echo and echo on, Away the message is carried, away the message is gone. There is a fog in your eyes; this fog that can be seen, It is never believed until it pervades your being. Let it writhe in the deepest depths, Then you will know where the beginning truly ends. There is this fog, pervading this room, In fades the white, to capture you. By reason or by mistake, the event has occurred, You may only begin again once the damage has been unearthed. Amidst this fog, the figure finally appears, And finally the truth is revealed, as a lie, A lie, too long concealed.

Anthony K. Rosales