Song in Waltz Time Over there sleeps a grief. She calls out names at night. She’s dreaming your release, but her hand holds on tight to your soul, like a child and her blanket. She smiles. She turns over. You stay too close. You turn back, like you do every day, forgetting she’s a fact. She’ll always call your name. She won’t renounce her claim. Go ahead, smile at her sadly—that’s not a choice. Light as a gold feather, she’ll tickle out your voice. Leave her there, let her sleep. You’ll wake her if you weep.
Fog Fantasia Some days the bridge just disappears. Damp fog swallows it whole, leaving a void crossing this tide. Your trust’s required. A vacant song leaves its foghorn. You can’t know what it sings. You pull your collar close, brush back hair already damp. You know what’s over there— you tell yourself that your dreams lie to you, that light will open out of gray sky. New currents will drag you gentle out to sea. You’ll float—serene, calm, dull. The other shore’s mystic caress—STOP! Stop this now, before you dissolve into flat, ignorant memes. A foggy day. A bridge. And strong Spring tides pull evening towards a moon. Watch it rise.
Mark J. Mitchel was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Roshi San Francisco, was just published by Norfolk Publishing. Starting from Tu Fu was recently published by Encircle Publications. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco.