The doorway is barely defined
it’s edges hazed:
so easy to forget where you began.
This fog swamps my lungs,
pressing into my chest,
pushing this nothing-white
hard against my eyes.

I can barely see you
beyond your hand which
I will not let go.
Your face is there in
memory alone;
moulded into shadow
dripping away into mist.

A form surprises me,
fusing, solidifying,
a form I thought was lost.
You look like you’ve been swimming;
your skin like marble,
your palm damp in mine.

Exiting this is such relief.  
My eyes awed by corners
and angles, and realising how solid
the world can be.