Fog...

I'm washing dishes
and cleaning a good time.
There's a Mexican stand off
between the night and my kitchen,
sodium is at odds with incandescence
and fog visits every corner unseen
felt like footfalls on the grave.
This is summer by the ocean,
a melodious harmonium,
Shankar's raga bhimpalasi
struggling with the metronomic
call of a horn near the water.
Mythologically speaking
something wails in the glow
of a dark night illuminated within
by handfuls of tears,
floating between the building
detached from the greater body
of being heard.