Late Fog

The easy sky of summer veers onto evening
hauling the coast-hung road you took for home
into the thick bruise stretching over the sea
where a late wound of fog darkens the horizon

The fog’s steep pall rises on a miles-long line
where the sloping sea bed’s little known deep
plunges to abyssal strange and the low laden ships
slink toward port to jettison their useless wares

There is no course but to watch the sun slide down
beneath the western sea where the fog’s line hangs
our deepest dreams and the pinned desires that mark
this dark horizon and await what comes with dawn