Thick and hanging… draping
Like epaulets from the delts of soldiers
Making the fabric of the air known,
in your movement.
The stirrings of these fog soldiers.
that dance and prey and settle onto the surface
Of the glow emanating atop; around;
the street lights…
These glows, encapsulated in the liquid of the air
Grace and Embrace
the outline of the trees making
Their auras vulnerable to visual speculation…
Wearied feet, walking slow with a new-found lust;
Eyes filled with wander,
At the godly omen of the fox
Appearing to then dissolve –
Message of protection passed on –
Into the misty fog,
As I feel I may succumb to the weightlessness of the air….
Early morning London fog.