By Ron Smith

Ripples on the pond
Influencing the fog
Trapped inside ephemeral cage
The body of a long lost god

From a day to a day
A word to a word
Sword to sword
Blood marks this page

Twisting round
By a knife to its hilt
The storm decays
Leaving a fine summer day

The sun shines on
But something is wrong
Yesterday is today
And reality slips away.