Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
This is how we used to imagine the ocean floor: a steady snow of dead diatoms and forams drifting higher in the sunken plains, a soggy dust on the climbing underwater peaks
But such a weather would build a parched earth, a ball of salt
D...
Light silken curtain, colorless and soft,
Dreamlike before me floating
what
Behind thy pearly
The hills step off into whiteness
People or
Regard me sadly,
I disappoint them
Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers,
The exuberant voices of music,
Have charm for children but lack nobility; it is bitter
That makes beauty; the