mist drifting across light while it buzzes, burning
away the night as much as it can muster.
underneath us, water churns. rustling through concrete
tunnels, we can hear it from the storm drains.
every lamp and passing beam catches that mist,
makes the invisible seen. you jerk your head, cock
a slight angle and peer out into the dark. they say you
have a sixth sense; how many ghosts have you seen?
or do your eyes get tricked like ours, and you mistake
the blast, the glare off the back of the stop sign
for something supernatural? chances are, america is too
young. give it some time for the bones to settle, for the history
to sharpen. then you may have something to protect me from,
little friend.