A mantle of mist this morning
hovers over the earth 
drapes across hills, hangs in the trees,
pulled up by unseen hands over unseen faces

A soft blanket as the world turns
(in between nightmares,
the restless shaking of a leg)
ever searching for the cool side of the pillow

Just for a moment, even the birds 
plucking carrion on the side of the road 
are shielded by these pretty little fogs 
that will eventually be burned up,

an offering to a flaming god
that demands a sacrifice