The Weight Of Fogs Poem by Chi

It halts at the harbor,
and stares at the ships in the distance,
unmoved by the foghorn.

Often, when there are no ships
to watch,
it yawns at the empty sea,

then drifts down to the beach
like a little puppy
exploring its world.

Today it saw a little child’s rusted toy
in the dunes,
and drew closer for a look.

It bent over the age-old thing,
stretched out its pseudopodic hands
to pick it up,
and take it along.

But then it occurred to it,
as if in hindsight,
that fogs have no weight.

It simply sighed,
gathered its veils,
and drifted away above the sea.