Haiku for the fog

2 AM awake
Awake, asleep, and awake
Foghorn on the Bay


There’s no sky today in San Francisco, just fog. Outside, buses and dogs and flowers are memory-distant.

I’ve never heard the Bay foghorn from my bed. I happened to wake at the right time.

My dad was raised on Lake Michigan, in a town of car-ferries and shipping. He is a connoisseur of foghorns, from the old BE-OH to the new less macho (but further-carrying) OOOOP. I woke up happy. His sounds of home have become my sounds of home.