University Press of Virginia (Associated Writing Programs Poetry Series), 1979  

            Meditation on Fog and Fire

            I’m cold. I don’t know what word

            I can send to you now:

            something about bones ablaze

            the day the fog came in.

            What a thing to waken to! At times,

            I’d rather you were huddled here,

            our breaths kindling their own fog,

            our bones secured and sunk.

            I’d rather we were in Tierra del Fuego,

            coughing, without any fire.

            But my message: the flesh

            is a fog that burns.

            The fog is fire enough, rising,

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