Menolades

Fog hangs on you
A dress designed for a ghost
With cobwebs for tassels
And strings made of menolades.

Mist falls from you
A tear consigned to a ghost
With shipwrecks for bugles
And strings playing Menolades.

Fog hangs from you
Like time reserved for a ghost
Washed ashore in a haze.
Painting pictures of menolades.