Fog

There will be no constellation hunt tonight, No star gazing, no lawn-chair Astronomy. About noon it came, despite Early official reports; a white glare Spread inland from the sea, erased the bay, Silenced the gulls, silvered the nearest trees. Through beaded window screens we saw the day Turn peach, then plum, then darken by degrees To certain night. The arrow flies, The chariot plunges, dog, bear, lion, Serpent, eagle, sway in hidden skies, Float like our lost islands . . . Aries, Orion, Draco, Delphinus, marked upon a chart As our lost islands lie within the heart.

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