Early June Morning

Air scented thickly from many spring flowers.
Heat inversion and fog and warming skin.
A morning so heavy that the peonies
can’t lift themselves to greet the sun.
I sit shaded, writing it all down.



A ghost in the trees beckons me

She gestures to me to follow her

deeper into the fog and cold nightfall

away from the known path and home.

I know her, but never met her.

I feel her hand  stroke my neck.