Foggy

Sometimes you can just about
see your hand
in front of your face.

You've no plans.
You don't know what you want
or where you're going.

A figure appears in front of you.
A friend? A stranger?
You wave, tentatively.

Who knows,
they might take your hand.
Lead you somewhere.

Should you speak?
You're not sure.

Like this poem, you don't know
what you should be saying
or quite how to say it.


foggy mountain breakdown

Poem copyright Bernard Young 2011