Fog rises from the water like remnants
of feelings cast off and creeping tenants
in dream-houses huddled and eerie ghosts
unspeakable unspoken stories, most
of which we know where neurons jitter-spark
recomposing our essence unremarked.
Our bodies caught, shifting twisting nightmare
fitful drenching in sweat deep mal de mer
we gasp for air, quaking in dark, misled.
A heron glides in right over my head.
The sky is pinking in the west beyond
the gold-tipped trees. My soapbox screed foregone
as dawn’s mystical incantation spells
the way to create new life and live well.
Belted kingfisher’s rattle fills the air.
I empty all past knowing, sit, aware.