it's a grey morning fog

hazing over the landscape; the person ; love.

it makes distant       .

further away then it really is,

 

it blurs the lines. 

whispers,, "you are alone "

it's white noise 

hushing the love of the Sun  

 

drips into the earth between the soft skin of your feet  

makes slippery what you reach for 

An aeonian drab

a monochromatic moan,

 

not a viper's strike - not always anyway…

a vindictive incubated virus,

choking. Sad. Pernicious.   fog is a liar.

where is the sun?

         oh, where is the blessed Sun?