Not on little cat feet, no, but everyday
The fog floats over the wavy lines of Santa Ynez
Seen out the window disappeared.
The city too, no valley, no mountain, no horizon
All obscured by mist.
We could be anywhere.
We could be in the arctic, blinded by snow
Or in a sandstorm.
We could be asleep dreaming, no place no time,
Only close, close the bougainvillea visible,
The water in the fountain heard.
The doves nibbling seed, the woodpeckers the suet.
Can there be an ocean near? The cliffs? The thousand stairs?
Maybe later, maybe then the city lights shine
In the valley below this house on a hill
Where we live now this short time happy in the fog.
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