We woke late
The day ought
To have begun
But there was a fog
Maybe you could see
Ten yards
In the low places
Less
All day we waited
For it to burn off
Like someone you wish
Would stop talking
But it never did
And the next morning
It was there again
Having never gone
Like a raw grief
Awoken to
And so we lived
Not as if in a fog
But in one
Impenetrable
As the illogical
Logic of the suicide
Or the general malaise
A culture will fall
Into so that
People only see
What is right
Before their eyes
The thing is
These sorts of fogs
Only lift when
Everyone has given up
Hope that they will
So that the light
Once longed for
So desperately
Seems harsh
And wrong
Great poem!