Fogbank

Fog rolls in across an empty plain
Visible from far before it comes,
Composed of droplets not unlike to rain,
But joined together softly - and it thrums
With cold, damp energy. The layered folds
Sweep in slow motion, first seeming like dust
While the terrain itself obliquely molds
Their ponderous passage; then a sudden gust
Of wind made visible by water hung,
Pushes it up and over, so the sky
Is liquid, and I find myself among
The drops, no longer dusty dry
But palpably moist. So too love rolls
Across the heart, and inundates our souls.