Ly Faulk

When I stepped outside my door, the fog greeted me

and treated me to lunch. We went to the Cafe Du Monde

and dined on beignets and vapor. The fog rolled away,

saying it was running late causing an accident on the Long bridge.

The rain walked me home, holding my hand gently as I

window shopped, yearning for new boots and sparkly

jewelry and for a hurricane to whisk me away to

France for real. The rain said he knew a guy,

maybe he would introduce me. Big guy,

torrential. He didn’t sound like my type

but I took his number anyway. Going

back inside, I read while the wind tapped

at my window. I knew it didn’t want anything

from me just to be heard, didn’t

want to feel invisible anymore, known only

by the things it touches, having been moved.