I’m fond of poems about weather, and I especially like this poem by Todd Davis for the way it looks at how fog affects whatever is within and beneath it.

Veil

In this low place between mountains

fog settles with the dark of evening.

Every year it takes some of those

we love — a car full of teenagers

on the way home from a dance, or

a father on his way to the paper mill,

nightshift the only opening.

Each morning, up on the ridge,

the sun lifts this veil, sees what night

has accomplished. The water on our window-

screens disappears slowly, gradually,

like grief. The heat of the day carries water

from the river back up into the sky,

and where the fog is heaviest and stays

longest, you’ll see the lines it leaves

on trees, the flowers that grow

the fullest.

 

Ted Kooser was US Poet Laureate from 2004 to 2006. He is a professor in the English Department of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. He lives on an acreage near the village of Garland, Nebraska, with his wife Kathleen Rutledge, the editor of the Lincoln Journal Star.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2007 by Todd Davis from his most recent book of poems, The Least of These, Michigan State University Press, 2010. Reprinted by permission of Todd Davis and the publisher. Poem first appeared in Albatross, No. 18, 2007. Introduction copyright ©2010 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

American Life in Poetry ©2006 The Poetry Foundation

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This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.