when last
night's chilly fog—which
had closed around us, so thick-
and snug-
ly, and emboldened
by that very full moon,
huge
and cold and low—
finally dissipated;
chased out
of sight now, by faint and unusually
ordinary gray light,
stretching,
and testing, and snapping it's new tendrils,
and caressing the concrete-
colored planks of
colored planks of
bad wood outside the upstairs window;
then—
and only then, and only with a very bitter-
sweetly
faint kind
of certainly—did I truly feel
that I knew
for sure what it could mean to me—and how
beautiful! and important it could be
that you
hadn't seen any of this with me. That you
simply must still be there—
downstairs
somewhere, very
separate from me—probably underneath
our soft brown blanket, still sleeping.
