I wrote this in response to Lorraine’s poem on her blog. Her poem, from which I borrowed the first line, made me feel something, but I wasn’t sure what the feeling was, so I wrote about it. 🙂 Sharing with Brian’s prompt about imitation.
Through the mist I saw
Memory, phantom-visions
Which I could not touch
Through the mist I saw
Places, people of the past —
Oh come back to me
Memory, phantom-visions
Seen in the night-time,
I remember you
Still I cannot touch
‘Til we are outside of time
In eternity
revivedwriter 
Lovely 💕
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photons
fist concrete hand
and we like those fish in the sand
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I like how you used repetition to echo the feelings of memory and the form fit “through a mist” very well.
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