the lulls of fog hug close
to the hips of the hills
caught
in the soaked grass
and the sighs of February

the styrofoam sticks
burned to the roots,
compact in the cracks
of the sidewalk so packed
into my memory

and the powdered
assimilation
leaves sweetness
on the base of my tongue

the hooves of fog
race us
they dance between the trees
bucking at the thunder
at the bursting
of my anticipation