Ghostly Swirls and Dervishes

The sun rose on fields

snow blown and misted

ghostly swirls and dervishes.

No fog this——

for fog simply lies.

No——this was living

as it arched and twisted,

fingering out to the road

and reaching for me

like the shade of a beloved friend.

There was white inside,

trying to seep out of pores,

I felt it strain

trying to mesh and meld

with this sentient wraith

fingers touching

joining

and suddenly

I am the morning mist

dancing in the crystal air.

 

~Lisa Shields

Done