Ground Fog

Ground Fog

Before, when I looked into the watery blueness of your eyes, I’d see invisible calculations, houses slowly assembling themselves, like a time-lapse film, you as the director, the maestro, inviting in each section of trades on your cue. I’d see the midnight blue of architect’s plans behind your eyes, lines springing into being in your deft imagination.

Now, I see a vacant house, a coffee cup left waiting, dry cleaning hanging expectantly. Your memory now like the ground fog that nestles into the low places on a country highway, clearing at the top of a hill for a moment, once or twice, only to settle again, obscuring you from me.

J. Paliatka