When the foggy tides
surge upon the land,
filling in the spaces
of the grey-bricked cities
and the meadows of green,
and the anodyne hills,
pluming everywhere like smoke
from a Great Father's pipe...
Then it seems like
a sea upon the sea,
with buoys that flash red
where the skyscrapers dreamed;
and perhaps a poet or two
watching from his fog beach
musing at the millions
who've become fish, unawares.
