A heavy stillness drapes the morning,
as if the world exhaled and forgot to breathe back in
the lifted veil.

Fog's gathering her memories, thick and unhurried,
softening edges, obscuring distance,
turning familiar streets into corridors of gray; silencened »memento mori«'s.

Trees rise as ancient monoliths,
their branches reaching, half-dissolved,
shadowlike, shape-shifting forms,
echoes of themselves in muted twilight –
soft and broken, changing ties.

© fey (09/11/24)