The Fog Made Rough Sketches of the Shadows of the Trees

Gray & White

Twinkled on in the Dimly-Lit Sunlight

The Sparrows Hopped Around Through the Fields

Leaving Those Chirps, in the Days that Passed by Way Too Quickly

Awakened, a Lot of the Sound-Asleep Silences

Some People We Knew, Left Very Suddenly

Gone to a Place, Indescribable of Words

Feelings of Sadness, Like the Rain that’s

Walked Through from Before

The Wind Silently Hidden

the Wrinkles that Weren’t Seen, that Quieted Smile

in the Sleeves

The Busyness that Stayed Hidden in the Light

and the Death that Hid in the Darkness

Branched Out Inside the Physical Bodies

Climbed Over the Walls, Looked Upon

the Waters, the Lights, Faded Away so Quietly, without a Sound

I’d Often, Returned Back into that Fog

Wiped Away the Backsides, in the Memories without Much Airflow

to Brighten Them, or to

Make Them Vanish

Then, Waited, Until the Fogs Subsided

Hearing the Echoes, of My Own

Conversation with My Self

This is, a sort of a meditation that this poet is in, watching everything that’s changed around her/him, and yet, everything stood still, and, s/he’d figured out, the only constant in her/his life was her/himself.