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~

just before sleep I hear the sound

of a foghorn in the distance

at a mid-octave pitch to mimic a mother’s song

the tone echoes in blue fog and winter ice

searching for a captive listener off-shore

~

I dream the cold night air

where I see myself under a streetlight

where my breath carries into the vapors

until the foghorn catches it

and I breathe again into the damp air

~

a sound

a breath

a sound

a breath

a kindred back-and-forth

~

our conversation continues

enrapt in a thick fog of voices that lifts only at daybreak

when words reverberate into the waking distance

until clear skies render my breath transparent

and sunrise forces the foghorn into silence

~

~

Posted on February 16, 2014 at 7:36 pm in My Writing   |  RSS feed |   Reply   |   Trackback URL