Formless in rule.
What then of coolness which congeals the mist but to liquid’s pool?
Temperately swirling element formless in rule.
As the sun’s caressing flames stroke the mirror’s fluidic skin,
its foggy ghosts are set free to mingle with the trees down lazy river bends.
Their callings are silent arrows flung from stump hollows and soggy hill,
sent blindly through the night on white winged ravens and the strength of whippoor’s will.
Now they have broken through the shell of their cocoon and set free,
as they are forever rising above what they had been,
their Mist-ical whisper showing us what we will be,
everyone………including you and me.
I think of that day that we are touched
by the light of the sun’s Catalystic kiss,
liberated as we are released from our solid state,
rendering us into mist.