Akin

Something like
pastoral fog this morning.

Trees and cars afloat,
polite with backdrop

washed out into plumes.
A carafe of non-essence,

extraordinary as everything
commences and towards

the provisional, along with
the solitude of an eye

quiet within mild dilation,
slumbered breath, thoughts

exerted as whispers
only to retreat to a few

blades of grass weighted
with the cool mire of dew.