man-with-stick-fishingSparkling shards of mist over dew driven fields.
Sown a crop for the year ahead to yield.
Fate come tie me down to the new calm.
While the church of desire sings its psalm.

Lay my aching body on soft mossy stone,
while feeling the cold leaving my bone.
Stretch to a new dawn coming in lights,
as birds up above arch in their flights.

Peace come lay down beside my body.
Sub warm the skin of this nobody.
Just a traveler through the line of time.
Never pay attention to any of the signs.

D 2013

(I have a habit of just laying on the ground in the garden and staring at the sky. Not sure what the neighbors think but they probably all ready know I’m eccentric.)


5 thoughts on “Mists

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