He blew the Scales off my heart
showed me our world,
it's locked in my blue diary
buried inbetween the mist of the dark ink.

Who is the carrier of the mist?
Who is the harbinger of justice?

I wonder how many sweet reeds
There are that blow in the wind?

The fog, dividing the big square.
The mist, forming a circle.

An encircling protection.
The night has its shades.

We have seen the good mist
Positively rolling along the open field
Towards us
We who make the camaraderie.
“Oh, now that’s a good mist”.

The mist, the fog. Wet dew
Of sustenance
With hope, I bow to you.

The mist hanging
over
the lake
reminded me of you.

Driving up the highway
When I saw it in the mist
Like a pure and tender ******
Still waiting to be kissed
A village all forgotten
Somehow time had missed
You could see it from the highway
slightly hazy in the mist

Had time forgotten this poor place
Left in limbo for all days
Was it just a trick of light and sun
Manufactured through the haze
Were the folks here ****** to stay
Out of reach but in our gaze
Or were they truly here by choice
Living old, forgotten ways

Brigadoon did spring to mind
but, in truth I thought this good
Be something better than that curse
This village protected by the wood
I pulled on to the shoulder
And tried to see as best I could
This simple town or vision
That had not aged as it should

I saw no point of entry
No way to get there from my place
It was perfect, untouched, special
A village bathed in grace
Folks kept driving past me
Up the highway at such pace
They would never see this village
In the mist as fine as lace

The village may be magic
It may be something in between
In truth all I can tell you
What I saw, not what I mean
It's a village, plain and simple
in the woods, all shades of green
Un-kissed, and yet so perfect
stuck in stasis, in between

There’s a harbor,
In which I‘m swimming
Sideways
With a neighbor.
We’re savoring a gray day,
Faintly misting inlay.

I looked to them to say,
“It’s such a drowsy day.”
To which, with weary,
They said,
“I think you mean dreary.”

At this I tilted my head,
And yawned,
“No.
I feel I mean drowsy.”

In opposites we
Watch hushed mist drops
Silently
Drift
down.

There's a thought that crosses through and by,
to evaporate up to the sky,
fetal posistion and eyelids kissed,
wisped away softly with the mist.

Life is like a railroad.
A song that never ends.
Its given and its taken.
Life. It has no end.
People live from day to day.
Without a single clue.
Of what will happen in days end.
The mist beyond the blue.

Hovering
Delicately
Gently

Floating above the earth
Calming
Cleansing

A man
In black suit
With briefcase

Walks
Proudly through

A bicycle
A footbridge

All in this moment
Of beauty

Mist drapes itself
Round stoic hills
Whilst hues of delicate bruises
Sugar roses
Watch on, dewy eyed
Frost bitten fields
Kissed by orange streams
Interrupted by knarled hands
Thrown to the air

to us, seekers of beauty,
blue kaleidoscope
ment nothing,
we've never found it
for we knew not
anything about
singular
alone-ness

sunset visages
sang songs
in return  
early spring dancing
a million secret
blessings burnt

effervescent organisms
coiling as subtle
sea of reciprocity,
effervescent offerings,
offsprings
ramblings

scattered and undisturbed

quenching quietness,
thirst satiated at
meadows mists.