They are lost in the misty embrace of the morning frost,
still sleeping gently, tucked in their hazy sheets,
their heads still weary
from their nightly flight.

At first the eye can tell the difference
       can make out the damask rooftops,
       the grayish walls and the pine-needles.
Only at first, while the eye is just the observer,
the body approaches
and enters the misty lanes
where mist shows itself, becomes the butterfly, the cocoon, the silkworm ...

concrete turns into cobbles
cobbles turn into pebbles
pebbles turn into soil.

The eye enjoys what eyes enjoyed
long before body ever was.