"Poems are forever floating through my mind and if I don't catch them pin them to the page they are gone forever and what good is that?"
~ My journal (age 14)

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

In praise of fog

Weightless drops delight in their ethereal state
dancing they swirl past the porch light
floating free instead of dripping down
a breath scatters the damp flecks of cloud
and passing headlights make a shadowbox
illuminating the yard as the house floats
above ground and under water
oh how the brume on a warm winter night
can turn a somnolent New England town
into a mighty and mysterious Atlantis
explorers need only step out onto the stoop
to watch the watery world drift by

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