The mournful wail of ships’ horns
break over dripping trees. Vapor
rises above the water, the breath
of the river suspends tiny translucent
droplets in the air, damp ghostly
arms envelope me with the coolness
of the tomb.
The work-a-day noise of the city is
muffled as though we all were
wrapped in cotton gauze in preparation
for a dreamless sleep.
Time seems vacant; soul’s lost.