Commuting With Oysters

In a tunnel built of fog the I-5 lanes,
too familiar other days, are a road of mystery.
no side views to distract, the eyes work
only at steering. No hills on the right,
no sundown on the left to say I'm headed north.
How like an oyster, this foggy night:
fold upon fold, secrets inside of secrets,
a pulsing motion that draws me forward
home, to enter another familiar mystery
closing tight and soft around me.


by Paul Gillie


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