Condensation of Thought

always just a dream.
Some wayward
condensation of thought
Billowing through
time to time
shifted from view
in sweet Zephyr's arms
to bluer spheres
of mind.

So surely,
I paint you
every limb.
Needle by needle
of ancient pine.
A nest built high
in dreamy song.

Then fall
and fall
into ruin.
Like so many
false erected spires.
Like the final
collapsing wisp
of an age-old

Danielle Shaeffer