Morning Fog

In early fall I walk over Salt Creek, breathing air out of the north,
air cooler than the ground, fog rising off the water, and

I pass through, taking in all my nose, my throat
will allow, into lungs air that has arrived here from Canada

southward, the jet stream sagging, bringing particles
off the northern Plains, sucking up dust off farmsteads,

off feedlots and hog factories, exhaust of giant equipment
working vast acreages, row crops to feed all those animals,

their waste collected in clay pits, leaking into lakes, streams,
into groundwater, rivers ripe with nitrates, smoke off

ethanol plants, methane over landfills, air of processing plants,
pesticides and fertilizers, over ranches and casinos, exhaust

over interstate highways and those nameless 24/7 places
at every intersection, over open spaces with shrinking populations,

cities that keep growing, this city and its sprawl and slow choke
of traffic, heated air off roofs and concrete, it's all around us

whether we like it or not, and we're all here now, in early fall walking
over Salt Creek, breathing the collective air, right under our noses.