Sorry I am late. I had good intentions...
Morning Vapor
In mauve, morning light
mallards are a waving mist,
necks and feet extended
as cupped wings swish
against fog in swamp-lush.
They are souls in damp chill
escaping to an eternal space
as if called by an eerie whisper
of something--someone greater,
to a prepared place.
As they settle, a quick honk,
a quiet cluck, wraps and laps
water against stick-figure timber,
their solace in an Arkansas December.
Morning Vapor
In mauve, morning light
mallards are a waving mist,
necks and feet extended
as cupped wings swish
against fog in swamp-lush.
They are souls in damp chill
escaping to an eternal space
as if called by an eerie whisper
of something--someone greater,
to a prepared place.
As they settle, a quick honk,
a quiet cluck, wraps and laps
water against stick-figure timber,
their solace in an Arkansas December.