Fog was born from a room
It made upon entering
Another room, carefully,
With the length of two chains.
It lifted a ladder into the elms.
It laid out the network
Of black and white fires.
Fog is hard to explain.
Just like fog. Fog just is.
Its shadow’s a death clock.
Birds are walking on it.
Did you see the barn swallow?
It saw the barn swallow.
A lawn-sprinkler spreading
The moonlight like mace.
And people through mirrors
Watching people in mirrors
Turn from mirror to mirror
Is Fog’s favorite place.
