Fog in the Burn

These are the clouds
That look like light
That breaks through clouds.
Now blue sky’s dark,

And the white shines
Like, I don’t know,
Grace? How is this?
Here where it’s cleared,

Where fire roared through
And ate the woods,
And left just stumps
And long, black fangs—

Why’s the fog here,
But not the woods?
I want to say,
It grieves, to grieve.