fogged in at a teahouse,
a growing gray of view,

this world lacks 
sharp lines,
excepting the hint of:

-a sloping roofline
&
-a building's corner

 these lines are 
sharp relative to
the amorphous gray;

but fuzzy compared to 
the same line's clarity 
on a blue sky day

now,
they're blurred, 
as if the village
had been painted by a
skilled - but lazy -
painter,

a sumi-e master
with a melancholy soul