Where The Missed Were

Wandering the hill top
taking thoughtful range and pace
We can't stand guard at the gate of thought
any more than we can stop
the quick whip sweep of mist
from the shrouded land below

It passes silently through the scrub-trees,
the heather, grass-flecked earth
and burial mound

The ether flows lightly
but swamps the land and sea,
making me and time unreal,
the day ahead a creaking ghost-ship
adrift in mill-pond sea

As quick as epiphany
the shroud beats rapid retreat
to the horizon
life suddenly is pin-sharp, hi-def hyper-real
and the day gets a rolling start
the world moves on

I still stare through
where the missed were

AdeH AdeH
26-30, M
Feb 7, 2010