In My Headlamp at Night
In My Headlamp at Night
Heavy fog presses
The air so wet
it looks like rain,
a field of misty
dots I swim through
Jazz doesn’t notice,
doesn’t mind
loves to sniff
damp ground tales
This blade, that bush
neighborhood news
who’s courting who
Pea-souper fog hugs
stories close to ground
a kind of watery shroud
Stories close to the ground; in the ground, sometimes buried deep, but Jazz will find them. If stories are there, they will be found.
I could feel the damp! Thank you...