We are the fingers of fog That grasp the hilltop and Pull the fog eyes up to see If the sleeping valley below Needs a blanket.
We are the mist that clings to her stream Long after other mists have Retreated to safety. The mist that forsakes herself,
We are the October late-day light That deepens the blue And livens the green And crowns Crimson Your fleeting, quick-fading queen. To distract you from thoughts Of the cold colorlessness to come.
We are the grainy gray shadows at dusk That camouflage the vulnerable And vex the predator So that the small May scurry homeward.
We are the soft illusion Of a bright twinkling cloud glimpse Of the shy Milky Way That pulls down the astral children’s shade And hides the rage of the stars, Indulging snug earthbound mortals To dream their snug earthbound dreams Under the proctor of Venus and Mars.
We are the saving grace Between you and reality, The light hand Upon your shoulder That keeps you from Going over the edge.