Smitten
There’s an unspoken conversation
mingling with the mist on the moor
and a silent longing draped around
the railroad bridge, now only a relic-
or perhaps she is only imagining it,
perhaps her thoughts are seep into
her surroundings, accenting them,
permeating them with their milieu.

He, on the other hand, is not here,
save for maybe in the currents of
secret thought that run just under
the delicate white geographies of
her face, illuminating them for a
few seconds, like a breath of fire
caught under fresh snow.

She moves through the still world,
the delicate grace of early morning
becoming one with her features,
flowing uninterrupted through the
pores of her face and tracing the
somber contours of her bare legs.
She is alone with the mist, the old
railroad bridge. Wandering aimless,
testament to an unfinished universe.