I live

where the mist hangs low

beneath the branches.

Sidewalks wind into cloud; is here a city?

Fragile lights glimpsed

between street-known-

all-too-silent-

death.

Fog shadows of tree giants

looming; I know their

murmurs, their time moments,

their footprint roots

before me all-too-sudden-

splitting-cold-brush-

of-breath,

gone.

Air stillness, the

intently curled

crisp of leaves; between

my feet a thousand graves,

watching them drift

to the ground.