Pantoum: in the fog
In the fog
hidden we speak in riddles,
convoluted frames
within frames.
Creating circles
of thankless things
we skip puddles
in the starstruck woods.
Convoluted frames
within frames,
these lanes twist,
shrivel by night.
We skip puddles
in the starstruck woods,
A speckled
thrush our only guide.
These lanes
twist, shrivel by night.
We pass as
ghosts, walking backward,
A speckled
thrush our only guide,
When our only
option is to go forward.
We pass as
ghosts, travelling backward,
Lost in circles
of thankless night,
When our only option
is to go forward.
In the fog,
hidden, we speak of riddles.
Copyright Vickie
Johnstone, November 10, 2020
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