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Fog. 12.4.09 |

Night is the greatest
insulation.

When the curtain of speckled
black falls
so too does a particular claustrophobia.
A tight intimate blanket.

We are adolescent lovers
steaming in the car.
We are lovers indulgent,
bathing.
We are a bonfire in a warehouse.

The windows and mirrors
become smoky--muddled.
Clouded.

And when morning
unlocks the dark box
the clouds dissipate.

Another day of doldrums.
Another night of smoke and mirrors.