Wraiths

The fog this morning wasn't veils
of gauze, or cotton-wool, or anything
so benign. It was like drowning.
Every breath inhaled aquaria
seething with their miniscule inhabitants,
translucent as a chunk of beach glass clouded
by abrading sand and restless surf. We moved
like divers through the tangled kelp.

So hard to see. It's not that clouds conspire
to hide solid objects. No, fog dissolves
us into wraiths of half-condensing drops
with boundaries equivocal as mist.
I meet you on the corner, but your gaze
passes tangential in refractive haze.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside