But it stopped the breath in his breast, everything in him turned into a vague trembling, all his senses were aflame, and everything before him was covered with a sort of mist—
Nikolai Gogol, “Nevsky Prospect”

fragment 10

Stay still now
in the mist
and watch this tree
inch upwards
as your hands
grow cold
and time
leaches light
from the sky.

More on mist here, here, and here.