Enveloped in mist, she was there, or she wasn’t.
Time stopped—perhaps—it’s hard to say
what was past, present, or future—
or what happened at all.
It might have been a dream,
pearly gown and midnight cloak–
or a ghost,
her auburn hair glowing,
blowing in the wind,
born there, nascent,
or ancient, always there?
She stood atop the stone.
Did she breathe–
Why did she appear?
What was her message, if indeed there was one?
She was silent,
her words buried in antiquity,
or not yet spoken—
only flowers circling the stone
where none had bloomed before.
Day 6—playing with line lengths.