A rising

A rising. Pic for poem

 

mist rising like silk

disturbed by a murmur

over cold water laid flat

by silence

before morning shakes it all

and voices breathe warmth

on words that float away

in the chill stillness that waits

to evaporate like a departing soul

with memories that whisper sweet nothings

to milky shadows and ghosts;

a coot calls and cuts the air

a heron struts impatient for the curtain to lift

and one more day is vague before

the mist unfurls

Simmering

Simmering

 

a white rag rides on the wind

flip flopping on the urgent breath

that rasps against roofs and eaves

as it complains against closed spaces

 

beneath all this I sit and stew

a quiet thing, compressed

alone in the vessel of my separateness

acquiring a taste for solitude

 

and gaze with growing detachment

at the scrap of white as it waves

with a careless detachment outside

receding into an unknowable distance