Fog and Bridges 1

Photo by sonson

1. Lion's Gate

I drive across the Lion’s Gate in fog
and glance in passing at this lion.
Its granite shape is sharp and fully formed.
Thick-carved layers of stony mane
ambush a memory:
thirty years ago I mounted this lion
giggling with two girl friends,
posing for a picture.
A policeman on a motorcycle
politely asked us to get down.

As I ascend the bridge today,
fog engulfs me.
There's only the bridge deck and fog.
Where the high suspension towers should rise,
where the supporting cables should hang,
nothing but fog.

Fear invades my belly.
Context is everything;
shapes that should be there are now conspicuous absences.
Unable to see the structure of the bridge,
high up in the air
suspended in nothing,
I quail at fog.