The Fog

The morning, a cold dog's nose Rubs and frosts my window pane I pat its head, it licked my toes I trembled in the pleasure vain Opened the door and there in white Sits the shaggy dog gaping still Big it was, bigger than the night Taller much than the trees and hill It yawns across the misty lawn And licks the dripping grass so wet Sorry, it did not chew up the dawn The work day in rigid stone is set With foggy heart I embrace the day And wiped its foot against the sun The hot stone mat, my will of clay Day's labor in this embrace has begun While the dog naps out of our sight Giving us room to wear out the day The fog will come again in the night Balming the bruises of work today.