Within The Spheres

The fog was thick,

What you’d expect

To see in a

Sherlock flick,

Out of the mist

She stepped from

The curb,

All in black,

Open coat,

Winter white blouse

Unbuttoned just enough

To make you think

Of too many things

At once,

Catching her eye,

Her soft smile breaking

In that time stopped

Second,

When mystery meets

And stays locked

Forever

Within the spheres

Of Strangers and Poetry.

Stephen Nesbitt ©