these frozen grey streets
chant about fog and 
being just on your way

they adore the sky, for
today it builds a blanket,
tomorrow an invitation

of heat or of rain, of
beauty or of scarcity, of
life or closed windows

the hare is out again
considering me, or
considering beyond me

what are these hard grounds
these infertile squares of grey
these rolling giants with eyes of light?

why does the grass
hold up its dew
to rays of light that steal?

why does the dove
sing from a fence
to birds of prey above?

i feel their instincts
a mystery in the fog
staring from all directions

i feel their questions, but
my feet stay dry
away from morning dew