Through the Fog #7/30

An oar dips silently into the water

and only the ripple hears it

Without a landmark

motion is intangible

progress impossible to measure

The boat rocks

ever so slightly

with every shift of weight

every breath of mist

There is no hurry

no sense of timeliness

we will get there when we get there

or remain in this rowboat for eternity

this pond our River Styx

our pockets empty

unable to pay the fare