The fog today so gray,
so low to the ground,
like smoke on a humid
day, and from it emerged
shapes of trees, prototypes,
not yet beings–
the sun on fogged glass
was blinding bright,
reflecting back instead
of showing me outside
as cars hurtled down
the highway as if it were
nothing, our only concession
to think twice before changing
lanes, too well aware that
unseen does not equal unreal,
we lose that luxury at
70 miles per hour.