On the way by Adam Parry

The morning mist on the river
thick
camouflaging the waters
into a long worm of cloud.
No rain falls as the mist
snakes toward the sea companiably
round the bends in banks,
over hidden trees.
The mist mimics the river's route
passes over like a kind amnesia.
I wonder if the moil of mist
would make it all the way to the sea,
would make it into a painting,
or a photo or a story.
The slug of mist passes me as
I stare into a poem