The fog confuses us
resettles, this day will
be bitter, the edge
of one thing, the end
of another, as if the fog
is the feeling, when really
it is a filter
for these days torture
is communication
and we make war
on everything,
and point to the other
for justification,
and the chill goes deeper
and cuts to the bone,
as if the fog becomes reason
and we have the feeling
we forget who we are.
