image © Sarah Myers, used by permission

How beautiful the rising of the mist
From the low pools where sun and water kissed
All afternoon, their disembodied grace
Now drifting white-winged to my waiting face;

Their warm-breathed loves, so openly avowed
In face of day and green, are now a cloud
That wraps me silent in the growing night;
I stand upon the hilltop, wear their white —
The daylight’s shine, the…