This week's Magpie Tale is really, really late. There are no excuses. Just...lateness.
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,
That is why I wear the half-mask.
It drinks sour memory, tongue gentle
In a tear duct, no sharper than a lash.