The night clutches tight, a thick cloak drawn,
Street lamps swallowed in whispering grey,
Silence folded, muffled and vast,
Footsteps vanish in a dense embrace.
Mist curls like smoke, dense and consuming,
Shapes dissolve where eyes strain to see,
Breath caught in the cool, damp weave,
Time slowed, space a swallowed sigh.
No path clear, no sound distinct,
Only the fog’s voice, low and deep,
Drawing the night into a quiet sea,
Where all is lost, and all is found.