Fog hovers over the river, turning the landscape into a
smeared water color, the vague shape of the sky line just visible, a hazy sense
of reality that is no longer the reality that I live in, or want to, the boats
huffing and puffing their way up stream to place I can only imagine, cannot
see, even the two bridges that define my existence, nor than south, as frail as
spider webs with the bare glimpse of headlights to testify to the burden they bear,
with me in a fog inside and out, unable to decipher where one reality ends and
the next begins, all of it one big smear with no sharp edges except for those
that poke inside of me if and when I turn the wrong way.
No comments:
Post a Comment