Low Places

Every evening my loneliness

gathers around me like ground fog

gets into my crevasses and cracks

into my vales and valleys

all my low places

wraps me into the wet and cold

of its wraiths and shadows;

But I know morning will come

dawn will gather the vapor to her

like skirts twirling above the trees

she’ll burn them off

until she sleeps,

when they

will rise again.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

This has some great imagery with the evaporations of the fog. Freeing from loneliness that swirls within the night time hours

[JR]

Thanks, it seems to be a cyclical thing.