Night Fog

As the air becomes visible
all that we think of as real
blurs and fades, recedes
into greyness. There is only

this moment, one step
in any direction. Frost
delicate and cold on every
branch and leaf — deathly

ornament. Morning brings
a thin and stingy snow
sifting the fog away. Three
crows fly past, calling their

rough greeting. A pale cat
slips between the iron bars
of the fence. I am surrounded
by dim mountains, like huge

sleeping beasts. Just over
that invisible horizon: December.
Winter dark. An earthworm
is frozen to stones on the path.