Forget cellar doors, a porch light in fog
is the most beautiful thing, perhaps
not in phrase–but that was always a lie
anyway, because we all know
that thrall hides behind
heavy wood, and glass shards,
forceful thrusting, and deep cuts.
In darkness, in fog, everyone
is beautiful, says drivel.
Feel forces. Two trees stand
in grey lonely, reaching but untouched.
By sameness, and in the dark,
we are all reaching, seeking, finding
broken beds and broken spirits.