Walking in the fog

Smoky milk-white rays on the dawn alley,

The milkman's bell is soft, like a distant boat.

The kettle whispers in the tea shop,

Today's small future is written in steam.

A light tap is pulled on the chain of the schoolbag,

The water-logged sky looks upside down on the sidewalk.

The wind slowly turns the leaves in the empty park,

Yesterday's words lie on the bench.

I take a minute of silence from my pocket,

I count my breaths, one, two, and the rush stops.

As I walk through the fog, I understand,

There is another day within the day.

There is no announcement, yet the door opens:

Where you stop, keep starting there.