Fog 2

It is a foggy morning on the beaches
of Los Angeles. The houses on the hills
cling to the clouds and I have thrown
my windows open to greet the sound
of the waves on a beach that I cannot see.

Though invisible, I know that the fog flows
in through the open window, spilling
onto the floor, rolling through the apartment,
greeting the sleeping cat in the corner
with a wave of a wispy arm.

Leaning out the window
I am embraced by the low hanging clouds,
and the weather threatens
to smother me with its soft affections.