Carts In Fog

The lot steps off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.

The car leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Sedan the colour of rust,

Wheels, dolorous wobbles —-
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,

A bag left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Streets melt my heart.

They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark asphalt.