Stillness of Time
with all the waiting and stuff.
The fog descends, cloudy liminality;
is the haze real or is this a dream?
It's the fog and the guardians,
the icy fingers and a warm blanket,
pain in the walking,
and too much to do.
Your angels are dreams in the fog,
beckoning light and silent longing of the day,
surety and fears, holding you back,
until her time. It's a stillness of time.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020