When the morning is an aging mist
Which catches deep inside my hollow chest
Like the sleep brought about once fast and past
Like smoke rings bellowing from a chimney stack
Ever emptying out

Until sky then holds no hands
And the earth will not coincide with any of mine
Once again, and so
I will not be found, let alone in peace reside  
So long as this morning mist persists in mind

Detachment has a name called me
I own it, and it is one of mine