walk in the grey, half-lit mist
all aglow in black and white
as if the sun exists somewhere
outside of it all
and there are shapes that move past
like half-formed ghosts
embryonic and awaiting birth
into the real world

i see my sons, my daughter
bright beacons dance with purpose;
there, my wife, lends colour
red in fierce determination;
green in gentle love of
the little, living things.

look – the world speeds past
half-formed and is done
before it has even begun

and there was evening
a beginning and an end.