Threshold

It’s a mist that holds you back,

a parent’s hand on the shoulder at the crosswalk,

the familiar pull

that brings you back to the curb.

You were just about to step

to start pulling the oars

to climb, to slide, to run,

to work.

But in that moment

all is a sudden shroud

and something scratches

at the door.

A kernel falls,

feet shift.

The loyal moon

watches

and the sea is miles from you

but sends its kisses out

in far reaching fog.