Fog
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 they never do It never did And the next morning It was there again It never lifted 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 malaise A culture will fall Into so that People see only 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 Seems harsh And wrong