Mist

Across the river,
I see nothing,
only mist,
as if the city
in the world I know
has floated off,
or slipped away,
out of this dimension.

And slowly,
like a painting,
growing before me,
little points of light appear,
poking through the veil of darkness,
details of being, hints of solidity
slipping back
into this world.

In this ebb and flow
of light and darkness,
only my memory
can see the familiar,
the cityscape
that my mind
has always known.

And, as I watch,
form and light
fade in and out,
in a slow and subtle dance
across the horizon.

Forgetting what I know,
letting memory’s vision fade,
all I see before me
is magic.