the streets after midnight tell a different story,
of echoing footsteps and the chill of fog.
the glow of a streetlamp provides scant reassurance.
it rained earlier.
the pavement still shines and puddles dot the walk.
a pale mist rises from them like ghosts.
like memories.
i turn a corner and realize
i have no idea where i'm going,
or if i even have a place to go.
i should be sleeping. dreaming.
in a warm, dry bed somewhere.
or anywhere with you.
5/26/1991
