I Breathed In the Fog that Obscured my View.

I've had just enough time to...   try to hold in my breath.

Taken one hazy October morning in Dongguan, China.

“The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap

And seeing that it was a soft October night

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep” 

― T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Other Poems

_______

Last october, I woke up to a hazy morning

And could see just beyond to the river

at chimneys poking up through the ground.

Where their tips could not reach,

Dense smoke spew lazily from it

just thicker than the thick fog.

And the smoke became the fog

And I breathed it in.

For I could not hold my breath for more than a minute.

This October, I went back.

The chimneys are still there.

The fog still as thick.

And I still could not hold my breath for more than a minute.