liquid to gas

Becoming the swamp mists here in  the 1970s
surging up as a thousand cobras from the murky waters
the thick moist vegetation there was something real
yet unseen by the human eye

Crawling through the rice fields before dawn
consuming stray cattle and small mammals
The under sheer merciless moonlight
The ritual of the transformation continued

Wings formed and long talons
Taking flight and devouring night buzzards
freezing in those heights kilometers high
Becoming the night mists here in the 2030s