Under Fog

I speak
My voice along my tongue
Shaping words, shaping sound
Expelled again by eager lungs,
But changes form and drifts to ground.

I sing
In wispy exhales
Turning to vapor, to cloud, to fog
Dense, frail
As it crawls silent.

I shout,
But only smoke and cough
The quiet wheeze of desperation
Falling down, blowing off
Words like trapped condensation

Wandering muted in the dim hours.

I write again; I smother.

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