As mist they come, these days taken in
Pieces, not given in hours but
Moments defined by singular fascination.
Drifting; muted, matted, music of such
Loud silence it treads the
Skin and melts into careful formulations.
Even when vanished by
Pointed light, such melody lingers to
Speak of dew and damp, cool and crisp,
Freshness which fills the lungs and awakens
Sadness to look upward, not down,
Forward, not back.
So I wait for mist and watch for
Dew, hoping not once, but thrice these
Moments will appear before
Dawn carries them from outreached
Fingers. Stay near me, moments of
Mist; give me such
~ HMC Cheryl
Copyright August 2008