some fog

pay homage to the neighbourhood shrine// connected to electric grid// wired to life


emphasized by winter morning fog sifting between orange trees colour waits to return

when out of thick fog obscuring all but a few feet of vision
a crow vocal to pinpoint position
flies from the empty gray and alights
on the curved pole reaching for illumination
in the density of this surround of absolute blank
reverberating off nothing
to provide an echo that is hollow
the sound survives only long enough
for the ears tuned and turned to hear
the subtle voice beneath as it speaks
in a language we all can understand