Mist

Cold, bluish, and the early sun
Smoky trees, whitened skies, and the murky vision,
A parable misted in the morning mist,
A paradox twisted in the dawning rust,
Something beneath, something not, but entwined me.


Cool breeze, grayish, and the lost warmth,
Shivering leaves, damp and moist, and the wet path,
A gait eerily guided by light, though scene blurs,
A wait wearily misted by love, though it pains,
Something beneath, something not, but the entwined me.