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Spectre Mist, Massachusetts
Under centuries of sediment
Tramped by stalwart feet
And twenty-two layers of blood
Laid down like concrete
From crunching force ambivalent
To this mottled seat
Dangles a shepherding spirit
Bathed in phantom mist
Playing on strings of circumstance
When souls coexist
With delusional flesh taunting once
So violently kissed
Until caressed in the nexus,
Songs resonating
In harmonic tempo profound
Patiently waiting
For the transitional gauntlet
Nature’s creating.
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