Small Stone, January 10

The outlines of stores and churches
that have stayed the same shape
for at least the last eleven years
are muted this morning by fog,
like paint with too much water,
Grayed to look kind of like memory.

Headlights, brilliant bright,
slice the veil,
Catch reflective stripes and
bring the road to the surface,
So much easier to see than
all the things that are standing still.