Incognito
May 28 2022
A wall of fog moved in
as I slept,
like a stealthy intruder
under cover of night.
Silent and slow
it rolls on unstoppably,
an insubstantial mist
that seems unaccountably solid.
Everything clouded
by a dull grey shroud.
So dense, even I am lost in it;
my hand
reaching out, and feeling my way
seems unattached,
a pale simulacrum
surreal flesh.
But what surprises me
is the distortion of sound;
its energy absorbed
and intensity softened,
the source
impossible to localize.
Which leaves me
feeling cut-off from the world;
as if I, as well
had become insubstantial
and nothing around me was real.
Yet also oddly comforted;
the world softened,
and the urgency
of the day-to-day
mercifully on hold.
Because it's quiet here
and easy on the eyes.
Because I feel protected
with the cool mist
enfolding me.
And because, like the fog
I walk on cat's paws
with light-footed stealth.
As if a cloak of invisibility
had enveloped me,
and I could ghost through the world
unheard
and unobserved,
not even sure of myself.
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