The month of December made the
Snow-less mist seem like an
Unexpected, yet pleasant guest. The mist
In October, on the other hand, is a
Shadowy figure who stands under the
Street light in the distance or the
Man hiding in the bushes as you
Unknowingly pass by. I realized that all of
My fears were a product of time and season.
Perspective is everything, whispered the soft mist.

I walked by a house that you and I might have
Shared, but you are long gone and the I who loved
You has ceased to exist. Now it is just I, a single ray of
Light emanating from the silent spaces between the
Thick woodland pines who charge along at my side.
The I with the beard, the broad shoulders and the
Deepened voice. The echo of a childhood lisp still
Resonates behind my teeth.

I thought of the art that was growing between my
Ears and behind my eyes, the masterpiece that no one
Can see because it can't escape the prison bars. An idea
Too large and a facet far too small. The mist encouraged it,
She tried her hardest to coax it from me, to grease the bars
Which held it captive within my skull.