Dwelling.

Blanket of fog, shroud to be.
Veil the fracas none shall see.
Nestle within my bridled haven
Lay the crinkles Time has chastened.

Cradle the chip upon my shoulder
Of that to which has gone asunder.
Whirling shades exit the tent,
A path diffused with steps intent.

Notions grate and bring to mind,
Of this and that and those in kind.
To whom and where and which to bind,
Precipitates a ceaseless grind.

Entangled runs the wind in strands,
Through sketches of the shifting sands.
Fractal shreds from breaks and bends
Wheedle noughts to make amends.

A treasure chest of emotions bare,
A tad too late from said shadowed lair.
Dainty eyelashes of each to preen
Reflecting that which could have been.

© Mich