Mist is in the air
seeping through my pores;
I look for you,
bathed in the cold.

Time and time again,
I hear eerie tones.
like the song of cicadas,
under Shumard oak.

Debated where you were
mystery unsolved.
The story of old,
Me vs. my own mind.

Afternoon fades off
still, debated unsolved.
to the song of cicadas,
to face each other once more.