This poem is taken from PN Review 70, Volume 16 Number 2, November - December 1989.
DirectionsFine mist and then a fog tangle my feet.
A sidewalk I can't see defines the street,
But curbs are hazards where the luminous
Is beautiful or starkly dangerous,
Perhaps a streetlight or a local bar,
The corner grocery or a speeding car,
A guideline or my death. They all exist,
Unseen, but still expected, in the mist.
...
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