Driving through thick-blankets
of mist, the light cut into darkness
like a scythe.
We were beginning
to get a sense of it, we thought…
& every now & then a liquid-sign
would slip in our peripheral vis-
ion. I had
to keep on talking so
as to prevent
her from nodding-off
at each sector, drifting along the
endless stretch of highway, the
music a warble-of-birdsong, & each
syllable a sound that sunk into our
consciousness. Had the mist begun to
let up some? On our left we saw
the ocean swell like a woman’s
pale-stomach, & our past vanished
into the waves that rose with each
breath of inflection… I saw a Japanese
house along-the-water, a little wind-
chime hung from slate-shingles
in distances I’d seen flash past...
It could have been the absinthe, she
said, but the lights that swoon in
pockets-of-illusion slip into halls of
silence.
She was
focused on the road, & I
wound a string of filament around
her thigh, at which she smiled,
seemed not to mind. Gradually
the sea tapered off into rivulets.
I watched its strands winding through
the darkness-like-a-snake, before
trailing off into the city. Night
balanced on the cusp a moment,
then plunged into a ghost-abyss… 
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