North of Mist

by Wendy Videlock

Just north of mist,
along the border,
half a color
from the water,

   under the kiss
of shadow’s daughter,
(two breaths backward,
one word upward),

   past the rumpled
terra cotta,
down the salve
of templed sorrow,

up the scales
of Bach, and Buddha,
down the moon
of broken solder,

   through the eyes
of someone’s father,
in the grass
beside the water;

one part liar,
one part seer,
one part lyric,
one part scholar,

this is the walk
we come to wander,
one part illness,
one part healer.

“North of Mist” previously appeared in Poetry.

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