From a haze emerged the afternoon

The field was sated with an autumn glaze:
an opaque veil relegating all to vague forms
and questions of a muted experience.
Even the scent was overtly undecided:
decaying refuse and burning industry;
cultivated soil and my slow burning tobacco.
Smoke that should waft from my lit hand
is consumed before it rises; before it forms.
Never had I seen a haze of such iron constitution:
where sound becomes muffled chaos;
where light breaks rather than bends.
At midday, as my watch surely indicated,
the overwhelming confusion disbanded;
resigning the answers it did sternly guard.