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veins of mist
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poetrycircle
“Veins of Mist”
The hills exhale in threads—
pale veins of mist
tracing the pulse of morning.
Beneath the crush,
stones remember the weight
of footsteps that never returned.
A crow calls once,
and silence folds
around it like a cloak.
The sky does not answer.
It only listens
with the patience of old gods.
.
