Jim Lukach Creative Commons


Over the sound of fog, 
we listened for direction. 
Oars rowed hard toward rescue. 
We felt sure that they would hear 
us, but we rushed by in too great 
a hurry, a cry out of the deep.

We are alone with the fog 
and the whistle of an ocean, 
bitter floating water.

This piece is an erasure of Out of the Fog by C.K. Ober
I highly recommend checking out this website to play around with erasure poetry.

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