Betraying the day
This morning,
fog spiraled
up from the pond
like superstitions.
Spring mists
poured like milk
down the river valley.
Count the humility
within a sparrow
and recite the number
out loud
over cold ashes.
Wear your shoes
like indecision.
Waltz
out the door
so that you may
betray the day.
posted by Anonymous @ 8:39 AM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Amazing the number of different feelings you can get from the same thing; there is fog and there is fog. This fog, pouring like milk down the river valley, is not at all the same fog that came on little cat feet and sat looking over harbor and city, nor the one whose veils drawn about the world, were dim and pearled. Another kind of fog, this one wears it's difference like superstitions, like indecision; beautiful in betrayal.
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