January 11

comments 20

In all this fog
-heightened silence

ears strain
for a sudden noise,

the streets

empty, the shut up
glow of houses

so inaccessible,
no one will ever

walk these streets
again, except

there, under
a lampost’s sharp

cone, a figure,
attached to a dog,

or drowning
in place,

I’ll never know,
the white night

swallows it up
before I reach

that block,
and our floating

paths don’t
cross again.



  1. Great build up of atmosphere, mood, and voice. The separation between the walker and those in their homes is as simple as it is complex. (S)he is neither lonely nor content, just observant. The nearly shared experience between the two walkers is also phenomenal.

    No one will ever walk these streets again. And the walkers will never cross paths again. Such truth! Because perception is subjection, time moves on, and we change every day, minute, second.


    • Thanks Izzy, for your thoughtful take on the poem. Also, I like your typo ‘perception is subjection’ might be some truth in that as well! πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the idea of our paths as floating ones. There is some kind of honest assessment that even knowing the path does not mean one knows what is on either side of that path, or how deep the fall may be…as usual, great poem. Yawn. Could you write a bad one, please? just to shake up my world?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ha! I’ll see what I can do… a poet friend and I once set out to write the worst poem in the world, but couldn’t get past the opening line of ‘O, Rancid bumblebee’ Perhaps it’s time to revisit it? πŸ™‚


  3. Nice!
    I wonder what drowning in place was meant to convey? Was it meant to be philosophical in accordance with the reader’s own personal experiences? (Atleast that’s what happened to me πŸ™‚ )


    • If that’s what happened, I’ll take it! To paraphrase Ars Poetica, I’m content with it being, not even worried about the meaning πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

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