The Weight of Fog
It is as heavy as fog on my eyes
In a world grown thick, recessional,
Every step into a new frame.
There are princesses here
Bushes in yellow and green,
Delicate and thin branches,
And the creatures that are always
With you in the parkland,
The ones you hear, classify squirrels,
And forget.
That is why I wear the half-mask.
It drinks sour memory, tongue gentle
In a tear duct, no sharper than a lash.
The world that live within a fiction writer's mind is a thick fog of many wonders. This is a wonderful write C. :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks! I hurried over to the arboretum today just to catch fog photos & ended up with this instead. :)
ReplyDeleteThis part was so unique: In a world grown thick, recessional,
ReplyDeleteAnd I love the last 2 lines:
It drinks sour memory, tongue gentle
In a tear duct, no sharper than a lash.
I can feel the fog too. Very nice.
ReplyDeleteI love the image of the fog and the last few lines, wearing a half-mask.
ReplyDeletethe half mask of lightness carries us where we need to go
ReplyDeleteHappy you stopped over to read mine
much love...
Half mask ... I loved that :-)
ReplyDelete