No Consideration

by Keith Moul

Liquid half-light of fog
Dims dry prairie land
That absorbs late passage
By beast, bird or even man
In their dubious purposes:
Land that left alone fits out
Blind pursuit of weariness.

Here’s our spot.

It might have been there.

To alter our view by steps
Does not alter our isolation.

Fog deserves no consideration
For change in morning light.
But fog hung over my field
May augur ghostly shapes.