Saturday, January 08, 2011

Foghorns

Embalmed by silent shrouds of fog
l stand in a stupor of dreaming,
watching the thin misty light
seep into the shadows of evening.

The trees are wraiths around me,
hovering in and out of dreams;
only the drip of cloud-liquor
distilled from their branches belies their true being.

Space and distance are drunkenly dysfunctional;
invisible blackbirds scold invisible rivals.
Their calls dissolve in darkness and
randomly rematerialise
with fog-softened edges.

I sweep the torch around.
In the beam a billion droplets dance;
each silver sphere defying gravity,
flocking on the whims of air
like thoughts drifting in a cloud's deep dream.

In the distances a universe away a foghorn sounds.
Resonating waters shiver;
sinews shake,
it wakes the hairs upon my skin.
A second answers mournfully from closer in;
the dialogue of dinosaurs
crying out their lostness in a lonely world.

I wander home, fogdrip falls like tears around me
but something luminous inside
is tingling still,
thrilling to the strangeness of
the changeling air.

(c) A McN

1 Comments:

Blogger Susannah said...

Oh it is so good to see some new writing from you. :-)

As always I really enjoyed this one and was transported to the scene, I could feel it...

I particularly loved -

"The trees are wraiths around me,"

"In the beam a billion droplets dance;
each silver sphere defying gravity,
flocking on the whims of air"

"the dialogue of dinosaurs
crying out their lostness in a lonely world"

Wonderful writing.

I would like to wish a very happy new year to you and your loved ones.

Susannah

10:44 AM  

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