Fog Poem by Luca Menin

Old movie morning...
The sun barely breathes, silver & grey colours.
Black & white grass heads, crying dew tears.

The land wakes with mugs of stemming smoke.
Revealing absorbing true shapes
Of tree grey morning bones

Wet tongue on my ears.
Whisper shadow from the lamp light.
Blind eyes draw, unintelligible figures.

Not much to see, on the walls' house.
Trapped in mimic cage.
The fog tricks silver and grey hats.
Of smoking breaths.