Fog by Carl Sandburg
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
To top off the snow and cold, we've had fog the past couple days.
Arriving at work, I stepped out of my car and felt unseen sparkle on my face, an almost-nothing awakening touch, like that of a baby's fingers exploring a trusted face.
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