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.

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