ŋαмε5Ħỉ

Visibility is low,

Temperature cool

dewpoint high. We see

nothing but a smudge in the distance

We grope, we feel our way along the coast.

The sea glows and sends soft messages through

the fog. We are at the threshold of perception

It's unfocused, half-remembered, a dream.

Are you there? You might have been.

We follow the markers:

red, right,

return