Swamp Woman

Mist strolled down the causeway like a woman in white, reaching into the darkness with gloved fingers of frost lighting the swamp lamps with her very radiance. Her breath hung in the air like smoke voice ringing out in song lifted on clipped wings deemed decorative, weighted by sins uncommitted She sings a lullaby to the starlight, celestial souls trapped within her boon lay in her as a final resting place. Icy winds pierce the flesh of mankind, the once plentiful fruit of her garden Unpicked, rotting uninterrupted in the snow, as she abandoned them centuries before. Early morning light flows into slit veins longing calls for the void granted hearing. She returns to the sky.