Fog

This morning a beautiful fog met me halfway.

That is how I realized belatedly
I was in love with you.
What was I doing out walking in it?
Sometimes, I realize a novel
is writing itself around me
and I am ignoring page turns,
being a bit of an asshole.

Is that how it works with you?
Is that how it happened?
In the Next World War
in a jackknifed juggernaut
I am born again. Plagiarism
is god. My sneaker bottoms
look like my heart today.

I can just see them from here
the way I can just feel you

from here. Where? Nowhere.

Can I send you a sweater?

I figure it would be a good devious tactic

The Fog getting in.