Your fog's darkness dims

Your fog's darkness dims my simple pin of light
Come in at pen-point, unrolled in inky leisure,
By black defining the whole wash of white—
By dividing nothing taking measure
Of all's unhampered everything and more.
What we are is more than prudent store
Of facts, of events unscrolled in order,

Sequential ticks of a circular clock
That round on nothing's zero once again—
As if to begin again were to begin,
Or to swirl a wand around undid a lock
That never did clicker for a key.
So your fog's a face that hangs half-lovely
And I a lighthouse loom round its majesty.