Across the way,
thickening winter fog
obscures the moored craft
in the harbor,
muting this watery, drifting place.
Skeletal trees
stand clustered on boulders
along the shore –
thrown up by
some past trauma or another.
A lazy ribbon of snow
snakes down beside them,
fading as it nears the lapping sea.
A cold rain mixes in,
gale warning up
as the coast draws in,
preparing its body for a sudden blow.
Writer Moe 
The feel of your poetry is really soothing. Perhaps I am craving the stillness this evokes after the chaos we cannot seem to emerge from.
Thank you – sometimes I just like to play with language, and see where it takes me.