A Cure for Mist

Not even this cool cloth kiss
Can wipe away the mist;
It's settling like a soft sheet
On a dead man's still, rigid breast.

Can't heal this one with water,
And you can't heal it with rest:
I tried honey and lemons and ginger,
Choked on flat Coke and sick-sweet alcohol.

Tea tree, green tea, Deep Heat -
The cotton creep of fever.
Counting lost sheep leaping over crooked stiles:
They're all wolves. In a childhood room
We chased dreams as pure morning loomed