or a little more.
Each a circle of ten feet, surprised
to be found,
and lost as we necessarily moved on,
as we do most days
With no distance—there’s no anticipation,
less than the dark
where eyes adjust.
Senses trade, touch before sight;
A reality worthy of medieval myth–
of course it is possible for warriors
to emerge from the mist.
We fault the sky,
applaud our ability to adapt
and fail to see what is clear.
We are isolated in time
and unlike the cloud dropped upon us,
time will hold us to our
limiting who we touch