Fog

Moving slowly like a soft grey veil 

embracing everything in moist and mocking pale;  

It lifts and leaves no trace 

no sign that it was here.

Returns again and fills each  void;

this vacuum that one cannot 

with one’s fingers touch, 

yet see

and sense 

and feel, 

this sultry grey soft mellow veil.

Sounds bellow from  the sea at night 

to guide those seeking harbor;

Red blinking lights no longer seen 

replaced by echo of this frequent calling sound 

are lost this night.

No light appears that is not dimmed by this 

this silent veil of grey,

this fog, 

this mist.

Surrounding everything so closely 

consuming all our senses

like a long and passionate kiss;

this silent fog

this soft grey moistured mist.

Now to the edge,

lost in blended solitude,

 dawn grasps nights dewy light

gently, gently, as it lifts.

Corrine G Schlessel © 1996