The settling fog, a ghostly brute that falls
Asleep for winter, slumped athwart the land,
Deludes perspective. Shade and light demand
A reckoning. In whites and greys, the hills
Are fused to valleys, acre, plat and yard.
A distant darkened mass where fog and rain
Condense becomes a barn in lonely guard
Collapsing on its rotten hoard of grain.
The foot that picks among the fallen brick,
Foundation’s ruined empire, counts and spells
The tired gloom wherein the future dwells.
In gravity, rain falls like logic’s laws
And touches lightly as the fog withdraws
And spiders spin a deeper rhetoric.