mist hangs suspended
bewitching, elusive
drifts over the soybean field
reaching up from the neighbor’s lake
reaching, rising
a breath from a soul

the moon is a mirror
a sliver less than full
a mirror of your inside
warmth, wildness, wonder
and room to grow
its cool light echoes over the cool earth
a consolation
against the death of day

(All right, this piece is really long, but it's partly because of the very quickly-flowing way it's written, with often only one word to a line. So please don't be intimidated by its length and give up on it...)