The corner where two
windows meet. The view
from a dark room
onto a fog-dampened
night. Stories

dissolve when they hit
pavement, or never get exposed
to atmosphere at all. It stings
to be so poised
to burst forth

in a voice soft
and deep, but to be
the one holding back
exquisite blackness
with a candle flame

that laps up
fear and air
till someone’s lover

returns. A woman’s true
laughter will float on
still water

to break through
soot and other romantic
toxins falling out.