Poems Niederngasse Issue 84 - January 2008

Wayne H.W  Wolfson
A Single Veil

I walk.
A ghost which looks like you in the fog, 
it is  just a memory which has yet
to be burned away by the dawn.
The mornings are now damp, a gossamer
of fog wraps itself around everything.
I walk among the canals, there is a scent, 
anisette and spoiled milk, which
makes me dizzy.
I walk.
I stumble.
I know.

Wayne H.W  Wolfson:  WWOLFSON@aol.com