The opaque mist grabs,
gas, wet, slow, spreading uneasily.
.
It is the sea in other form.
One might drown walking
on bleak stones, under
soaked air, above ocean.
One would observe with great clarity.
Were it not for being Earth-held,
one might think how the fragments join
where Man is not confused by trust
in what is known of the drying world's base.
It rolls itself out all over,
leaving everything damp. It kills,
with its grave cold. Never far off.
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