Words from the mist

A quiet weight gathers over sand,
and all that breathes begins to wait.
A blurred rim of light behind the clouds —
and everything learns how to listen.

The sky tore open without a sound,
and ember-light fell like foreign rain.
The shoreline, wrapped in a darkened cloak,
while every name slipped away.

Drift to where the shore meets the marsh.
The fog holds shapes that do not fade.
Old breath lingers in the stillness.