Fog

It's all there in my memory,  
being processed, here,  
on roof of my mouth.
 
The pulse,  
each beat a beat to oblivion,  
founded upon choices made.
 
I watch a fire spread cage walls,
hours after ice has explored mine.
The sun sets beyond pane, left side.  
 
A feeling of freeze
as it turns into fire
is still sunk into my nailbeds.
 
And the ravens sail overhead,
and the water turns to wine,  
and the evening melts  
 
as Moorland snow.