In a fog field
You could lose something in a fog like this, I thought. Like your feet, I thought. You could lose your feet in a fog like this.
I was in the middle of the fog field, from the waist up. The fog was glowing, a little yellow from the park lights and little green from the grass. The fog was a field over a field, growing like wheat or wet sheep or cloud grass. I could see my hand in front of my face, but I couldn't see my feet.
A dude was sitting on the side of a turned-over shopping cart on the side of the field. He had a white shirt on top of his head and the arms were hanging low like ears. The fog ended where he was sitting. It stopped and there he was sitting on a red cart and wearing a white shirt on his head.
I looked at the fog and I looked at him. He looked at the moon (yellow) and at the ground (black).