This fog envelops me
Why won’t you let me see?
Did you descend a cloud from sky?
Or rise from pond and saturated earth
And stillness in the wind?
Or from the breath of people round?
It matters not: my vision’s circumscribed!
I start to see the little things
Closer, larger, larger
My contending begins abating
Softness rolling in or out, down or up
It matters not: intimate now this mist
And I contented turn toward home
:- Doug.
