The fog moved in
\nlike a web on grass,
\na curtain
\nabove the black mystery of the earth.
\nIt is not common in June.
\nNot in Columbus.
\nBut this has not been
\na June of Junes.
\nPerhaps the English
\nknow this better than we.
\nOr countries where the jungle
\ninvades the houses,
\nor the monsoons flow
\nand leave their mists.
\nOr living on the slope of a mountain,
\nwhere the morning
\ncomes almost at noon.<\/p>\n
But the fog is here
\nand there are people in it.
\nForms that approach
\nand leave without sound,
\nwithout greeting.
\nAnd I realize
\nit is only the fog,
\nmoving around a corner,
\nor spilling from a bush,
\nin ponderous shapes and shadows.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know if people are there,
\nor shades of the past.
\nPeople that had sunny faces
\nand bright laughs.
\nWho talked and shouted,
\nbut now,
\nmove in the grayness,
\nas if they must keep a secret,
\nor are not quite awake,
\nor have turned into air
\nand sadness.
\nThe fog can do strange things
\nto your eyes.
\nAs if sight
\nwere an extension
\nof all that passed on and returns,
\nto listen,
\nto touch in indefinable ways.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The fog moved in like a web on grass, a curtain above the black mystery of the earth. It is not common in June. Not…<\/p>\n