Barren trees line the banks of murky water -- Their lower limbs, a maze traveled by fog. Fallen leaves make faint noises With the occasional half-breeze, And puddles lie expectantly in half-sunlight. I sit inside, by the window, Leaning in. Wanting to enjoy The fog The aftermath of rain Emergence of sun But the chill penetrates the glass And creeps into old-house crevices. Toes curled inside warm blanket, I hug my shivering frame. Neighbor walks by, waves. Smiles on one side of his mouth. I'd invite him in, but have nothing to offer Except coffee. And it's evening. My stories would bore him, And he doesn't ask for a listener, Seems set upon chores -- Maybe clearing away debris post- storm, Making sure his lengthy driveway Will be easily traversed. The window Has taken on some raindrops; I lower my head. Despite attempts to fight off sleep, It lures me in. And dreams of a wild & inexplicable nature Take form. I am floating on a house... And pillows are my paddles. I am using butter-knives Found inside the unfamiliar house To ward off faceless foes who have climbed up out of the water. And neighbor-man is among a small handful of allies. He is the only one whose face is halfway lucid. | 
