The Fog

In the morning, the fog
Commuters fill the lanes
On their way into the city
They cannot see
But know too well

It’s there
In the haze
Diminutive towers
Shadows beneath a piercing sun

As they are shadows
Piercing the shroud
Beneath a sky of mottled blue

In the evening rush there will be no misty cover
Crystalline clear; hard-edged architecture

Though the fog lays still upon commuters