Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Sunday, November 16, 2003


It was the first thing to notice,
stopping halfway down these
steel steps. Early hours silent,
moon directly overhead, a little
to the left along the way.
It was complete with haze
surrounding, ethereal in light
and reflection.
While I dreamed the fog returned
and now swirls around me,
through me. And on the way,
I watched as it surfed the air,
played hide and seek with
form and shape, casting spells,
tricks with my vision
as if the mist here, midpoint
at the streetlight was
trying its best to become
something material.

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