Dream Hangover (Poetry)

I am a morning tree beset by fog
in heavy folds it hangs — envelopes me
and presses close its damp unwelcome drag
I cannot shrug its clinging mystery

My limbs are ghosts that loom — grown indistinct
the sight of them unnerving — strange and bare
I feel so insubstantial — rooted light
a being carved from shadows resting there

I have to wait for sun to set me free
cut through the gloom with sword-sharp clarity
till then all budding thought is held in thrall
the dream so dense it hides reality