Fog

.
this late evening departure
meets with greetings from a dense fog.
she shows me the unseen detail of light
and gives my heart that tickle I like,
warming him up oddly with chills and wonder
then yearning and nostalgia might follow,
or the near bursting of the poor organ.
.
and she wafts about,
or lays lazily there just beyond my touch.
the wind from my hand
might be enough to unveil forms;
.
a cloud or a puddle
giving the suburban house some undeserved romance
or revealing what they’d wish to be.
sly fox, brave woman, mad man, I’d
pull you in my window with a fan if you’d abide;
I’ll settle for the damp dark moss
of a smell you dress yourself in.
.