On some secret overcast
autumnal evenings,
there's a pinpointable moment
when day gets invaded
by a parasitic night;
when any residual warmth
is subverted
and the alien fog both
condenses and grows.
From the street,
the faint lights I now
see in neighbors' windows
feel at once mellow
and chillingly remote.
that the words get caught
in my throat—
I do not know the exact specs
of this obstacle,
but the pull is strong enough
that I fear it's
unsinkable.
In a blink, some ghostly
scenario behind my eyes flows
from unthought
to available—
to forboding—
to unthinkable.
