brass / words / 2008 / Creek

August 9, 2008

It's misty now.

                Outside.

                In here.

Where there's fear.

                Coating the lines of my

Face.

Bumping in the dark air.

Sometimes.

                Light

Finds its way.

                And I pass into the

Flight of mind.

                Passing.

                Passing into my stare.

They are memories now.

And I wonder.

Deeply.

If what was meant to be.

Passed into me.

And here with mist in

My hands.

Rolling in my veins.

These what once were.

Passing into me.

                Two Sags contact me.

Seconds apart.

                What sort of plight must lie

Between the second I. 

And the key to that door.

Must find that

Door.