Yes, this is mist and tongues my neck

I found a sonnet I composed exactly 10 years ago today during another misty Spring morning. It seemed fitting for the day.

Yes, this is mist and tongues my neck

by Gideon Burton

Yes, this is mist, and tongues my neck,

the cool and wettened tissues of my eyes,

and this the sunlight, this the muted trek

of morning.  Even all the rain that tries

to shoulder hills with noisy coiling clouds

subsides, impossibly reduced to mist,

less amiable now.  The sun grows loud

along the steaming sidewalks.  Buds, like fists,

push hard against the breaking ground, content

to wait for pollens in the coming noon.

The early sparrows pause, their singing spent,

and they will turn to other matters soon.

    Remembering the mist as though a friend

    had called again, some idle time to spend.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - net_efekt