It was a breeze that eased over the swamp with a fog that longed in slowing song to the swaying trees, sleepily reaching for the strings.

The breeze turns into a gust, rolling up, and bellowing over the street, shaking the budding leafs of bushes, and pushes up the side of me, slithering through my sleeves it eases into my breathing, and coiled up the meaning into one exact laser pointed anointing of a singular fact.

And I, Am, Back, from circling colors that leak from the seams of everything, pooling in black encapsulations around the reeling remnants of sentiments hosted in a picture perfect frost.

As they melt away in the fading facade of the finality that fettered away, as dawn gave way to days breaking in the lights that refracted in attraction to the baren redacting of my status upon the pavement of the street that i stood for so long on, waiting for the fog to lift its grip, but instead we drifted toward home again.