breathe (in the mist)

I can hear angry voices somewhere ahead.
Curled up on the lakeshore, holding cold breath, covered in moss.
Expecting to find a train station or a secluded pond.
Usually, they are pinpricks of light in the dark; tonight, they are halos of white in the mist.

You feel odd here. As if

some-where some-thing is coming

to-ward you must keep move-ing

and re-turn when it is safe.

Watching humanity move with the measured flow of blood.
"I'm somewhat tired", he said.