I spy,
the morning mist, outside
the window that is not mine,
rising from the river,
sunshine tries to sneak through a sliver,
I, with thoughts only
here and now
for thee,
you
my new and gentle mystery,
who came to me on a silver stream,
made subject for my pen,
my dreams,
and this misty morning,
where I wish to be,
across from you
smiling back at me.