There’s a harbor,
In which I‘m swimming
Sideways
With a neighbor.
We’re savoring a gray day,
Faintly misting inlay.

I looked to them to say,
“It’s such a drowsy day.”
To which, with weary,
They said,
“I think you mean dreary.”

At this I tilted my head,
And yawned,
“No.
I feel I mean drowsy.”

In opposites we
Watch hushed mist drops
Silently
Drift
down.