Through mist I wander slowly;
A mist of six odd years.
Of misdeed, dreams, wearing seams,
Of trial, thought and tears.
In this forest bleak, lonely -
Blank, damp and bare,
I stretch a hand to high above
And call out: "Is no one there?"  
A ghost of brick, dust and rot:
Amidst wind, the structure groans.
The space contracts to shaded grins
And at once
I'm all alone.