How many particles of hazy lines have floated above the world in ease,
A silver sliver or blackened fume a desolate life to lead exhumed,
A creature of creations whims both settled and lifted with air and wind,
A temporary conundrum which only some dare attend, opening the gates to hope and fear within,
A kin to the clouds and visitor to the space we share,
The will of the wisps is not to be present but for it’s presence to be felt everywhere.
08/19/2021, 12:55pm, Thursday