Monday, October 22, 2012


It seems weakened, tamed
by the haze.
A harmless disc
welcoming your gaze,
travelling through
a thin layer of clouds,
like ghosts, wisps,
flourishing tongues
of mist.
Feelings like feathers
randomly streaming.
I am just staring
at  their pencil-like lines
in slow reeling.
And since I haven’t disappeared yet
I want to say something
about where I was born,
here in this quivering
Venetian light of my own.
Under the October sun,
tamed by
the all-embracing damp.
I am walking now by the canal
on the grey, paved bank,
dots crowding on me,
on my verge:
they show me how I’ll fade, transpire
and merge.


Dave King said...

Lovely, has a meditative feel to it. Thoroughly enjoyable. The images are familiar -- not cliches! -- and make the thought easily accessible.

Crafty Green Poet said...

we've had a lot of mist here over the last couple of days too