Fog in New Mexico
Pale ghost, long lost from a chatoyant sea,
Sighing of gulls and green waves breaking high;
Why do you still haunt my blue door,
White ghost that weeps for a far distant sea?
Deep in my soul salt tides rise and fall,
Crumbling mud wall, uprooting gray pine tree.
Must I, too, haunt blue doors at dawn,
If I go back to some forgotten sea?