Mist

to look at it all

every single thing

basking in this light

i’m glad you decided to share it with me

in this space of a place

where the ghouls gather

no longer scares me

instead, acknowledging a past

a life both well-lived

and of many mistakes

a finely floating mist

hangs above our heads

left behind from a family farmstead

who passed on long ago

his hands were always dirty

from picking up the pieces

of dirt

of soul

of sound

of messes the children made in their boots

would he still look upon them with pride?

will the eagle’s nest still sit

on the highest perch of the house?

she’s calling us home

I hear the echo of her voice

slipping between the trees

come along now