I keep looking across the river
From my office window
At the hazy skyline
The pin prick of skyscrapers
Poking through the clouds
And think: “this isn’t real,”
This feel for real lost in the haze
I carry inside and out,
Like fog on the windshield
I can’t clear with the windshield wipers
Or even the heated defrost,
Fog growing thicker
As time goes on,
Muddling up what goes on inside
While the world goes on without,
I’m always trying to pierce this fog
I see on the skyline
Trying to learn what transpires
Inside each spire,
Not so much the internal circulation
But how it all works,
What is real or unreal,
What shifts the fog inside
And what can clear it away
So we can all see what is
Really there,.
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