that fog hanging under the moon
is just the smoke exhaled from my
string of spent luckies as I
sigh havoc into the night
it rained earlier & the streetlamp
must be catching mist in the trees,
it's creating glowing pinpoints, fairy
lights that glimmer with the wind
I can hear the North River, though
not visible in the dark, I can tell it's full,
hushing all other sound in a white noise
holding me in trance as I sit, just being
I could stay here till dawn this way
with the fog & the river & twinkle lights
keeping my secrets, surrounding me
with a mystic sense of knowing