Again, I find that my mind wanders

Again, I find that my mind wanders.
To drift upon the morning haze low.

A suspended tide, a cushion to hold and bestow. A crisp chill drawn in deep with the sun's rays rising; piercing the murk and sunder through forgotten leaves upon skeletal hands.

A golden pink hue permeates.

I revel, the cleanliness of a full lung, to hold the thin chill.

The air is still, quiet, and thick.

With a breath
I am left in prospect.

With a breath
I am left in peace.