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.
2 comments:
Lovely, has a meditative feel to it. Thoroughly enjoyable. The images are familiar -- not cliches! -- and make the thought easily accessible.
we've had a lot of mist here over the last couple of days too
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