It seemed, for a while
that my visage, too, was foggy;
me not quite solid —
not quite having the gravity
that draws momentum,
swings clearly,
finds spring and bounce,
sinks definitively
into its center
After a while —
A while of sleep,
to let my presence gather;
A while of leaving phantoms well alone
so they could slip away;
A while of not trying
to force my life colors —
of letting them rise
like streams, like tides —
Then the fog was gone
And I was home.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 12, 3013