what thread dropped afterthe cicada passedor what mist startedto build in the partof the story whereyour eyes blur and yourfeet grow clammy onthe earth of fresh graves
today’s taxable event landing in a fine mist between foxes
uneven rocks in mist stay quiet about destiny
myth in deep mountains the soft horns of mist
the mist, falling out of your ear, sharpness of distant rocks
misty morning I redraw the world with one black pen