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.