When The Fog Rolls In

Dogs don't bark and children no longer dance and sing.

It gets dark
back there
when the fog rolls in,
back in the folds
where it all begins.

Back where the sun
now rarely rises,
the moon hides,
dogs don't bark,
and children 
no longer dance and sing.

Now deep recesses
lay claim to words, 
thoughts and places;
names and things
get misplaced,
some mysteriously disappear.

The fog swirls slowly
and like water
finds every crack 
and every crevice 
and fills them, insidiously,
with doubt and confusion
and strips them of clarity, 
then of dignity.

Someone's still there,
some where,
way back 
in those dark folds.