Fog
We find the easy way.
Up, down, around, sloshing through the thick -
we untangle, climb and conquer.
Still, pain is mind’s mortality,
crinkling hope like paper -
each fiber breaking cleanly in the fold.
Sing pain again;
of women, drugs and alcohol,
of faint stale dawns.
Your eyes paint me -
a figurine on a step,
breathing fog.
My lips steam.
I watch my breath -
quietly swallowed by night.
I stare into the light,
farther along this path,
and wonder if we’ll ever meet.