"And pour forth the greens, a song for hereabouts..." - Sue Wheeler, "Wintergreen"

It's foggy.
The air is thick with the thoughts of God.
Bright light cuts deep but
I can't see the treetops
They're rooted to the skies now.
You can't wear these shades.

Wading the near-empty streets
This must be what it feels to
Breathe water.
We get soaked without complaining.

I am aging faster than usual.
Your destination is unsure
You thought refraction wasn't practical, wasn't useful to know
Now you don't know what you see.