Remembering Carl Sandburg - The Fog Poem by john tiong chunghoo

The fog descends
in the wee hours of dawn
like a sacred thing

moves slowly to the ground
the way mom would pour milk
from a half frozen can

in the newspaper plant
the reel has just started running

the words go so fast
they are the process of thought
reenacted on papers

millions and millions of information
precipitated to get to the right one

not all news are accurate as
we would love them to be

the fog plays with them before
the sun shines through it

what remains after are little
lovely jewels on leaves
and - our eye lashes
to help us weigh the day

by john tiong chunghoo
inspired by

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg