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Out of the Fog  

At night when only sirens whine

and stoplights change for no one

walking, no cars, joggers, no dogs

just cats bored with the bushes

tails high on patrol,

the glittering lace of the bridge dims.

We blink to see it’s true

and I say, “Look!”

Low clouds from out on the ocean

breathe heavy over the city

over the bay into Oakland

swallowing the waterfront

its tips of red flash

and sink into darkness

the freeway drowns

neon dims out

windows sift shut

buildings fade in the creep

up Piedmont Avenue where the edge

of our neighborhood shadows

and disappears.

The glowing street globes above Brandon

swell with waves of whirling mist

billowing through the wash.

“We’re above it.”

But of course we aren’t,

snuggled side by side

in your plaid wool blanket.

The swirl of each word drifts.

“It’s for us,” you say

as you take my hand

into your pocket.


for David


at home on the balcony