The Fog

a cold night

on which the hazy skysmoke clouds

decided to visit the stony Earth

droplets suspend in the air,

rest on the fragile, frosty little leaves

and the moon is only a glowing, shimmering stain

on the steamy curtain

reflecting softly on the air

mists fill the cracks in the ground

and the shallow caverns of the street

and tangle and twist around the trees and the flowers

in a serpentine fashion,

filling the basin of the Earth

blinding its creatures to the objects,

opening eyes to the soft, simple beauty.