Time in Mist

Time wears a coat of fog,
a cold that whispers silence through the bone.
Descending backwards down the heart’s stair,
each step holds a beat that breathes contrary.
Walking in retreat, with hands that shun the now,
memories fold up, shards of light upon the breath.
The coat contains the sound of passing hours, hushed,
while the spirit counts the breaths that know no close.
If you gaze within, the dawn expands the breast’s gate,
and time, weary, seeks again the proper pace.
The mist remains like a signature upon the sight,
but the heart ignites softly, rising toward tomorrow.