The Fog

Bouncing, drifting, wandering off
In my mind, in my naivete
Something catches itself
On a breath of fresh air
And the world starts to smell
Of dewy tension

It's this low hanging
Misty fog, a blanket of haze
Distorting my view
Resurrecting my imagination

Wispy white extending towards
The crisp dark blue of the ocean
A borderless horizon mocking my desire
For parallels and sharp shapes

I wait
For that cold, singular feeling
To fade away
As the fog creeps quickly,
Coveting my urban landscape
Allowing no room for anything
But submission