From faded tarmac steams this end-of-summer heat.
Our headlamps catch spools of white vapour, it moves,
circular, in the throat of the road, like a liquid pours, only lighter, slower.
Things we should recognize loom unknown from the fog.
Pairs of lights drive by and sound just like cars.
A night when seeing an elf standing in the mist would seem not too terribly farfetched.
ReplyDeleteWe do live in a Middle Earth sort of place- an elf would make sense here :-)
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