The fog rolls in
  wispy tendrils, indistinct
Everything wrapped in
  indecision, no shape
Matches what it really
  is coming into view
Only when you are
  right upon it
Sinking with wet
  misty, crying enduring
On and on into the day
  long and overcoming
Thoughts come and go
  never taking form
It is all images not
  perfected, just beyond
Reach and understanding
  meant to haunt
The day away in
  what could have been