Brume
The city is a milky, oval opal
cradled between the mountains' breasts;
from my airplane window I view her misty shoulders,
her features masked by darkness,
quiet in midnight sleepiness.
From my perspective she lies in peaceful slumber,
but what do shadowy vapors hide?
We descend; closer,
the pricks of light stab more sharply
until I can discern the gleaming blood flowing,
shimmering rivers pulsing through the streets.
This flight will end below
where you are waiting in brightly lit airport;
people rush upon their ways
to other highways twisting through the sky.
We will find an all night cafe,
sit across from one another
and wish our own heart fog would dissipate.
Copyright, August 13, 2015
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
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