When my breath parallels the clouds,
The whispers are silent and freeing.
As I shiver from the wispy shrouds,
I soak in the phantom blurs I am seeing.
Tentative drops fall first: quiet, unsure,
And my heart skips in anticipation.
Resilient eyes follow the liquid allure,
Utterly still: from the mirage, I am taken.
Mist feathers my skin as it whirls and dances,
Alone with me, in this frigid, ghostly crowd.
Always hoping for the storm’s advances,
When my breath parallels the clouds.
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