Fog (a deconstructed sonnet)

Dense fog enshrouds us
Makes all contrast dim
As we still struggle
In the dark to find
Each other’s truth
Another face or hand
Even our voices
Muffled by the cloud.

One flash of color
Two at most at once
We try to grasp
Not knowing what it is
Our own dim understanding
Weakens more
Each time the whispering
Wash of wind runs by.

When sunlight comes again
Burns off this cloud
Will we still stand
Together waiting for
Our journey’s end
Or even its beginning
Or will we, blinded,
Have drawn too much blood?

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