Aikido in Fog
my students throw one another
sleep-dazed I watch as
breathing fills this dedicated space and
bodies in breakfall slap
the early morning lethargy
beyond the window
sun, orange tip of a heavenly cigarette,
arcs toward a sky that must be there
burns the fog obscuring
grey banks and brazen billboards
if the fog were wily and billowed in
through pores of girders, concrete, glass
it would make us ghosts
students erupting through
the leaden fog
and I with them
spirit hovering
Fran Turner
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