Coming in out of the fog

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