Gray-tipped lawns
And wizened, balding trees
Greeted me with grumpy grins
Along the stone-cold pavement.

I breathed out
A stream of air
Pale, white fog hanging ahead
Mixing with the blue.

For a second
I saw a form
Within the curling, breathy breeze
Sweeping over icy shores.

A pale ship
With mast and sails
Cutting through the foggy sea
Drifting atop the waves.

It stretched taught
Then trickled into drops
Out of the dissipating cloud
Mixing with the mist.

Somewhere in distant
Far off times of
Sailors, seas, and gold-toothed men
My fog ship swam

And sank down
Under the whirling waves
To dank and green-kissed depths
With rotting wood.

The ghost ship
Climbed the watery grave
To the skies and lit
Upon my lips

To breathe again
In foggy air.
To think of waves
On swirling air currents.