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.