Gray

Epitomized in sifting fog.
Descends and drifts like
Cream, whispered rumors
Covering and concealing
The wind-stirred sea, willowy
Bush and branches,
Long field of flowers.
Washing everything in a
Pale, lifeless mist.
	Sometimes it consumes me.
Pulling the circles, entangling
Me in dull pallor that
Erases red cheeks,
Shining eyes,
Warm fingers.
So cool it dampens everything it touches.
Adding black to light, fade to lustrous,
Sleep to daytime.
It moves with no identity
Acting as neither water or cloud.
Moving both into and out of
The cold, moist Earth.

11/94

Tom's Notes:

The fog in Malibu actually got a poem out of me. This one was originally thicker with words, but less "meaty" ones and it sat admist my pile of disguarded poems until I one day cleaned it up as a class exercise, trimmed it down, and made it into something presentable.

This one goes well with October Memories. Both have beautifully dark images.

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