A Rolling Fog
Fog arrived
and split the air,
the light,
on cue as if by water
wrung
and spun
by Freyr’s own
floundering hand.
It clung
to lamp posts
cold as rust, and
licked the pavement
with swamp water.
And we wondered how something
as light as fog could carry water.
Written for Miz Quickly’s 8 December Familiar Alchemical Elements Image: Venice with image filters, original photo by Philippe Mignot on Unsplash. Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
So descriptive, like a lot of your stuff. Lovely.
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Magical. You amaze me.
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Ooooh I especially love that last line… about the lightness of fog and it carrying water. And I love “cold as rust” and the fog “split the air”. You see, I work backwards. I had to look up Freyr because of my age old ignorance about mythology. I love that his hand is floundering but I’m not sure I understand why you chose him specifically. It’s a lovely, intriguing poem. Thank you.
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It's Still Life 
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