For a larger and clearer view of the images (on a computer screen), click on any image. This will lead to a "gallery view". Then use the keyboard's left and right arrow-keys to view the images in sequence--or click on any thumbnail image.
To return (from the gallery view) to this post, tap the esc key, or click on the white X at the top right of the dark background.
On touch-screens, analogous actions may be carried out. On mobile phones, the image quality may not be the best.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The Prints of Tiny Hooves
To return (from the gallery view) to this post, tap the esc key, or click on the white X at the top right of the dark background.
On touch-screens, analogous actions may be carried out. On mobile phones, the image quality may not be the best.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The Prints of Tiny Hooves
There’s a fog that slides through Brooklyn,
like a mollusk or a seal,
with a scent in it of ocean
and a cold and clammy feel.
It’s an issue, from the water,
that is needed by the land,
as the trees of spring and autumn,
as they greet it, understand.
It slithers up the alleys
and it slips along the streets,
and it leaves its trails that glisten
on the twigs of leafless trees.
There’s a mist that wafts through Brooklyn
as the tides and seasons turn,
and it floats along the treetops
and it glows as streetlights burn.
It’s a child of air and ocean
that is welcomed by the tree
as it twists and spreads its branches
for this blessing from the sea.
It sweeps across the city
and it brushes past the roofs,
and it leaves, on what it touches,
the prints of tiny hooves.
There’s a child of air and ocean
that is visiting the land,
as the humans who are watching,
in the quiet, understand.
It’s a reaching out and touching
that is silent, cooling, soft.
It glances skin and surface
and then it wafts aloft.
It strokes and it caresses,
as the city’s lanterns glow,
and it leaves its trail of kisses,
as the shining dewdrops show.
There’s a thought that’s sad and smiling
that is shifting through my mind.
There’s a feeling that was angry
that is turning now to kind.
It’s a being from the ocean
that’s the mother of us all—
the well from which we’ve risen—
the deep to which we fall.
It’s a whisper in the silence,
It’s a glow within the night.
It will arc, before departing
with its streak of fleeting light.
There are movements that are measured,
there are movements that are fast.
There’s the mist that’s drifting slowly,
there’s the “star” that’s flashing past.
There are touches that are forceful,
there are touches that are soft.
When the land and sea are mating,
then their couplings can be rough.
But their meetings could be gentle—
and so it is with all—
like the wave that rears and crashes—
and the fogs of spring and fall.
2018 March 30th. Sat.
Brooklyn, New York