I don’t have the papers to travel to

the White Cliffs of Dover, but I imagine

it feels like the fog riding out at dawn.

My copper necklace

stays metallic even when misted.

I look for the statue of the local idol

who made this possible;

Maybe it has time to officiate a wedding between me

and the mist that’s gathered here today.

I want to be the groom it talks about the most,

especially to strangers that come from everywhere

to take pictures.

Copyright © 2022 by Oswaldo Vargas. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 27, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.