Fogmire

Shoulder to shoulder two handspans apart

we sit upon the silent precipice of the single bed

the room is filled with fog so thick that sound is trapped

writhing in the air between the desperate mouth and desperate ear

the sound suffocates and dies

never heard by you nor I

but fog, vast, engorged with many victims

sifts its sentience towards us

sensing still two sounds

it curls around our bodies, cramping muscle

it rolls in through our eyes, bleaching vision

it clouds our brains into damp flickering

and skulks obesely on our tongues

blind and deaf and barely conscious

fog weighs us down and props us up

our hands are a breath apart and cannot be moved

nothing can be said

nothing can be thought

nothing can be done.

So our hearts lurch sideways in our chests

like frightened children straining hand to hand

like magnets quaking either side of flesh and bone

they beat like the wings of a single bird caught across our rib-cages.

With the beating, quaking, straining

the heavy hand of fog upon us lifts

we stir a little, see a little

glimpse twenty toes in a line

but fog is going for the kill;

summoning its thousand fingers

it leeches moisture as it leaves

toes curl up as tongues curl up

eyes curl up as minds curl up

and fog forms two milky darts

streaming straight toward our hearts

our chests offer no resistance

our flesh has been conditioned

fog snakes in, hearts drop like stones

and fog reclines upon its thrones.

Yet somehow the beat goes on

and fog cannot crush it

these hearts convulse together still

fallen in dim depths somewhere

flapping limply through fogmire

no ears to hear, no eyes to see

and no minds left to be thwarted

–

2020-2022