The mystery of mist

lies heavy and light

across the water of the bay,

shrouding the horizon

and the first peeks of sun

in the early morning light.

 

Two swans swim in the mystery,

moving languidly and dipping

their black heads into the

the cold steamy water that

moves gently and certain with the tide

beneath the creeping presence of the fog.

 

And across the bay on the other side

there is nothing except a canvas of white

painted over and taken from sight

as if it never existed from eternity;

while in the water the veiled boats move

in their ghostly swaying and

nothing much is heard except

the cautious sounds of the morning birds.

 

18/4/2017