In a Mist by Rick Mullin

In a Mist
Off Manhattan
—For Kate Light

Streaming Mozart’s Requiem from the cloud,
a chorus crystalizing somewhere high
above the Hudson River in a shroud
of nearly concrete fog this morning, I
must navigate by radar, iron borne,
a ghost aboard the gray form in a mist.
I see no buildings. I do not see water,
lost at harbor, turning in the twist
of an untraceable idea of order
out here somewhere gone around the horn.
My vehicle, a hollow drum, has found
the rhythm of a river down below
to which I port a brisk angelic sound
from agents in the wind of time, the flow
of passing shadows dark and torn.

by Rick Mullin

Editor’s Note: I recently saw a meme that instructed readers to post the “quietest picture” they had on their cell phone, and this poem does that brilliantly well with imagery, enjambment, rhyme, and meter.

One thought on “In a Mist by Rick Mullin

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