A cloud
low to the ground
reaches 'round my neck
and down my shoulder;
no colder than your stare
and the fair white of
skin, sun amiss.

There, you look left
than back at me
and seen by we
a menagerie of
habits
breeding like rabbits
and feeding each other
of their own flesh.

Here, you look right
and night is upon us,
and the cold gives way
to starlight and fire.

Heat moves quickly in the dark.
Shed of its shining coat,
blinding cloak, of
how to us
it seems to be.

The clouds
low to the ground
ascend
and pretend
once fallen down
not to recognize
our faces
as a river.