In Mukilteo, Sea Equals Sky

—the only difference
    the slow expanses of
ripples
     where the water’s surface trembles.

Soon, the red lip of a boat
           will emerge,
         then the feathery tips
             of firs.

For now, no beginning,
    no end,
     just the pulse
      of the ferry’s engine—

Fog rubs out the horizon
        with an artist’s thumb.