By Todd Davis Todd Davis
In this low place between mountains
fog settles with the dark of evening.
Every year it takes some of those
we love—a car full of teenagers
on the way home from a dance, or
a father on his way to the paper mill,
nightshift the only opening.
Each morning, up on the ridge,
the sun lifts this veil, sees what night
has accomplished. The water on our window-
screens disappears slowly, gradually,
like grief. The heat of the day carries water
from the river back up into the sky,
and where the fog is heaviest and stays
longest, you’ll see the lines it leaves
on trees, the flowers that grow
the fullest.

Poem copyright ©2007 by Todd Davis from his most recent book of poems, The Least of These, Michigan State University Press, 2010. Reprinted by permission of Todd Davis and the publisher. Poem first appeared in Albatross, No. 18, 2007.

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Poet Todd Davis

POET’S REGION U.S., Mid-Atlantic

Subjects Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals, Weather


Todd Davis is the author of five full-length collections of poetry: Winterkill (2016), In the Kingdom of the Ditch (2013), The Least of These (2010), Some Heaven (2007), and Ripe (2002); as well as of a limited edition chapbook, Household of Water, Moon, and Snow: The Thoreau Poems (2010). He edited the nonfiction collection, Fast Break to Line Break: Poets on the Art of Basketball (2012), and coedited the anthology Making Poems . . .

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Poems by Todd Davis

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals, Weather

POET’S REGION U.S., Mid-Atlantic

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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