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  • Writer's pictureMichaela

Spiral Fog

At first, it's just a mist

Floating on the surface of the sea, at dusk.

She lends more water to the air

Creeping up the beach on feet that do not touch the sands

A little while, an hour, three --

The ocean left leeward

Yet dew is in my eyes, lashes beading with it,

And the vapors build to a smoke that brings the night

I cannot feel my breath

I cannot touch my thoughts

I cannot find my soul

Fretting in this fret too thick to think in

And the circles I describe don't help to find me

And I am no longer numb to cold But this cold numbs me If I sleep, will morning dawn Unclouded?

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