Winding Down

The sky filled again, the day a brief grayness falling into night when the clouds darkness had devoured became visible once more only as the moon rose and, unseen itself, filled them with its borrowed light. Filtered thus to earth it is dim, and barely reveals my breath's fog as it drifts. The faint mottling above is barely revealed as well, and is like my indistinct thoughts, more uncertain than not, but an insistent presence nonetheless.

The chill seeps into my clothes, and they brush me as I walk with an icy reminder of their existence. All this is actual, but might as well be imagined, so tenuous is my grasp of it. It all seems it might melt away should the stillness give way to a breeze. I imagine the scene collapsing like an empty cloak, and dare not close my eyes lest I miss the event. If I miss it I will never know I was here.


( Sunday Verse )