Fog
---
A whirl of white obscures the road
My car zips through it's insubstantiality
Nothing is real but the hurtling cars.
Then, around a bend and over a hill, a wall of
white approaches, dotted by a stream of lights.
My breath comes fast, my foot pauses on the pedal
it's only fog, I tell myself, as my heart pounds,
white but penetrable. I tense and drive on,
goaded by the other cars, frantic to get to work
or else the sand castle will wash away.

Aug 17/98, N. Aucoin