At dawn when the fog
lay heavy on the lake
and sounds were muffled,
I picked blackberries
In a dream.
The world was soft and white,
no vivid blue sky to
sear my eyes and make
them tear. I stood where
the bluff sloughed off into
emptiness, and peered down
to see if I could find myself.
I listened, but heard only
The grass whispering, shhhh,
Its lilting voice urging calm.
I saw a jeweled coil
At my feet, and thought
It was a gift from you.
I reached, but it moved,
And before I knew what
Tricks can lie in fog-shrouded
Dawns and dreams, it struck
And as I fell headfirst into
Whiteness, I woke, in sheets
That wrapped me up in dread.
Our bed. In white.
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