A low-lying, grungy cloud of brown and grey sweeps the globe,
chaotic and sustaining.

The architects, divided, upped tools
and washed their hands.

Now it roams
and feeds,
or starves;
waxes and wanes;
shelters the feeble;
blocks the brave;
and obscures the light-bringers.

Its true danger is the shadow it casts on land and sea:
leaving all distant
and unseeable.

A bumbling unknowing causes other senses to heighten.
Those senses tire,
and misfire.

Soon, the landscape is resculpted;
maps don’t lead where they should;
the warmth felt, isn’t seen.

Detachment is the fight.