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.