Prognosis

For Jenny Rockwell

When life is measured
in months, no longer years,
you find your way through the dark,
your knuckles white, gripped tight
around everyone you hold dear.

I think of that photographer
who saw the distant mountain
from where he sat in the city.
From his rooftop, he showed us
what the smog can take away.

We did not know we could see the mountain.
But, see, we only noticed the veil
on that one clear day.