Fogbound
By Patricia Asuncion

Luminescent white droplets roll lazily, create a surreal glow that envelops us.
At the gate of thick morning fog, pearl air caresses creamy waters, beckons us closer.

Once inside, a perfect white-on-white rainbow permeates the haze like the sun’s flashlight. Graceful dolphins rise at the bow, mimic
the ivory archway.

Unconcerned pelicans float in and out of fog, like lifeless driftwood rising and falling
then rest on a remote beach. Seagulls rise from the mist, haunt the shifting edge of fog.

Swallowed by Deadman’s Channel off Cedar Key, we are hostages in a fifth dimension—
ghost markers and muddled voices
of failed boat motors and crashing waves.

Only gentle wind and sea keep us moving, searching for escape.
Non sequitur thoughts zigzag,
ways to freedom, ways to die.

No fresh water. No food left. Useless paper map.

Just like we’d eased into the white trap, we spot the smallest patch of blue, then scant
shadow of land until the Channel mercifully brings us back to full-colored space and time.