by Richard Vince

The rails are still shiny from
The rain I never saw fall
As the mist walks on the water,
Slowing only to limbo under
The straining, traffic filled bridge.

Seeing this place is like
Learning to write again.

Her eyes are pale as her hair
Is pale, but her skin reminds me
Of the clouds in early sunset
That today I fear I will not
Get to see. Instead, greyness
Like the colour of his tuneless whistle.

Even in this low lying ground,
The clouds descend like a blanket
To extinguish the fire of this well worn day.

At least the sodden haze contains
Many hues as it obscures
The horizon beyond the estuary
And beyond the destination of
A bridge long since burned,
Long since forgotten.

Now though, the trees obscure
All that the mist left uncovered,
And the world feels much smaller
When it seems to end but ten feet away.

Sometimes it is hard to believe
That the world beyond the mist
And the trees still exists when
It is hidden from my view;
It seldom becomes easier when
It is visible under clear skies.

But here I am, part of a world
That I rarely see for a day.

Today I discovered a city that
Was almost entirely new to me;
It was little like I expected, but
Now I cannot remember
What my expectations were.

And you are like an unfamiliar city
That I would love to become lost in.


Posted on 08/31/2002
Copyright © 2019 Richard Vince

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