A pale orange light leaks through
trees in this small urban park.
Mist, rising from the river, floods
the path I walk, settles on my skin.
It makes ghosts of other walkers
who take form as they approach,
dissolve again as they pass. Birds,
all voice, no form, decorate the silence.
I love the last line! And how the mist makes ghosts.
all voice, no form, decorate the silence is a wonderful wonderful line
I loved “take form as they approach/dissolve again as they pass”–so simple in its description and rhythm.
So rich in detail and meaning. Beautiful.