A thick cloud covers
the living room floor
to my waist
pours like a cottony river
out of the closet door
onto the porch
being stuck in an airless
dark
closed attic
almost sounds like
a good time
next to this
trip on a chair leg
submerge in the cold whiteness
pull my T-shirt over my mouth
grope for a clear space
to scramble out the door
foggy swirl drains into the back yard
with Mr. Crunch safe under my arm
I dash to our dock
the fog seeps along the surface
of the lake heading for Austin.