The Fog

As I am heading towards a small island
and drop the anchor, an ugly sight appears:
Empty beercans,
torn plastic bags,
trash.

I wake up to the sunrise.
The island is not the same.
The rays of the sun glitter among the fog,
the sea and the sky form a seamless entity.
I can not tell the difference between water and space.
Everything I did not want to see is hidden,
ugliness is but a memory.

Is it?
I know it is all there.
I enjoy the sight in front of my eyes,
knowing that I am not able to leave
before the fog is gone,
before the passing illusion has disappeared
and the disgusting reality has returned.

When the fog is but a memory
and I see all I did not want to see,
I am able to lift the anchor
and cruise back home.