The valley is the home of mist
That yawns beneath eyes in mourning
Always wanting late come rest extend
Into gaping day that light may be more clear
That moisture may be lit with clarity
Reflected in droplets formed on skin
And chilled the long stemmed glass of night
Dreaming of adventures beneath stars
Waking a profound homelessness
A feeling that enigma evades
That old meanings climb mountains
To inspire renewed admiration
Of things hidden in clouds
The peak is the mist of a home
Hanging in high consciousness
Severed from the river whence it came
Carrying sleep past trees that knew only wind
Along contours mapping the ascending ridge
Through deep set transcendent memories
A proximity like homecoming
Save for beads of indifference scattering
At the falling of old trees in the forest
And the discovery and carving of new meaning
A new day free of clouds to hide in
Walking along to gather meaningless things
From the people of the valley
Homeless and selling symbols of the peace
Which lived in the mountains around them
Which clung in mind as the charm fell
Striking the valley floor
Again scattering the meaning