Buried Under Dry Fog Poem by James McLain

Today of this my daughter this day of all days.
Traveling....non realistic this Florida city.
Buried under dry fog of brown day.
Free me of dawn moon light, night of winter,
hot are these frigid days.
Crowds from else where line the long bridge.

Redemption has flowed out to the gulf,
large are such numbers.
I in mine youth and youth mine in Dies.
Kept alive would have led to my death.

And one by one,
I locked eyes, chest to chest before I died at her feet.
It flows down then up a bit higher,
then lower around the hill and peaks at the top.

That young corpse whom you last saw this year.
What did you plant with your garden?
When did these thoughts start occurring?
Does he what you think mean of me this year trees bloom?
Or did the snow melt?
Abrupt fell to earth the leaves obstruct the bed?

The excavation of it for the sake of it you have buried
before, for the second time, remember the first was that!