breathe every morning

every day, advice is
something about the breath—
count it, notice it, release it, on and on—
This morning, the mist I believed was lifting
instead, thickens to fog
rolls close across the top field
Breeze shifts, hurries to herd this sky
eastwards towards the forest—
back and forth it drifts
from field to forest, back again
fog as light as a poem