Specks of Wonder

The day came and went,
and we had many passing thoughts.

None of which we could keep.

We watched processions of people
gathering on fogy street corners
as if anticipating something
but then dispersing.

We roamed from one coffee shop to the next
discussing the mist and how it pleases us,
the way it erases the city,
—amnesia literalized, we said
and set adrift.

We would walk just to watch things appear from no where.

Each object strange and magnificent.

A statue to itself.
Doing what it does best.

Fitting perfectly into the cosmos,
then disappearing.

We marveled at the erasure of the world
and speculated about the continued existence of things
after they passed us by
or the ones we never thought of.

There were a thousand conversations we could’ve had
but only had one or two,

keeping the rest to ourselves
as mist seems do dictate,
shrouding street after street
until opened by our feet.

The fog came, then later it was gone
and there was nothing left to talk about.

With the fixtures of the city so plain and obvious.

—The mountains painfully present.
—The sky concealing nothing.

—The Great Unknown with nowhere to hide.

So we resumed our thinking about the obvious
going our separate ways
to our obvious tasks
with their obvious masks

without so much as a hint of grey
or a speck of wonder.