there is no crowd (within a fog)

^{Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains}

~

paths open

there is no
crashing

no jostling

the one
that is dazed
progresses

crowds part
as though
he is a presence . . .

has
a presence

he
is unaware

unseeing

stepping
through pallor
as insubstantial
as mist

in truth
this could be
another land

a different
place

for what is occupied
is a room
in his mind

a retreat
from all
cacophony

within
and without

lost
yet . . .

perhaps
on a path
to finding

the fog rolls on
leading
each footstep

~

This is poem # 265. I just realized last night that I determined to tackle this project and set up the writing file on 30th August 2020. Over a year on a single project.

What was I thinking, I wonder.