Thursday, October 25, 2012

on god, or whatever

What's fog?

it's -- clouds. (i hesitate.) thick moisture in the air? hard to see through. look up, at those treetops. how they're hard to see? that's fog. see?

I can tell by the angle of her chin that she's not looking high enough. She sees the tree trunk, not the canopy. But she nods.


I want to touch a cloud, the boy says.

you're walking through one, i laugh. the fog dampens (my voice).

He puts his hands over his head, his fingers stroke the air.

I don't feel anything.


I drive (just above) posted speeds. My cargo sleeps. Clouds scramble across the sky, black just looking over its shoulder to grey, perpendicular to my path. Where are they going? A higher strata seems still, black blankets that bow under the weight of someone laying down. To sleep? On the job? I can feel the pressure on the space between my eyes. I push back with slightly raised eyebrows to keep my eyes open. To watch the road.