Early Arrival after a Very Foggy Commute

You just about see, inch by inch, in fog.
It sends the headlights back upon themselves.
It barely lets the road come crawling through;
You go creeping toward road crawling toward you.
It makes you existentialist of Is;
Was, wiped out behind the tail lights; Will Be,
Still to be seen…breathed — breathing your held breath,
As you go inching Is by Is along.
Is-ing into Will Be — to Well Being,
You hope, you hope. It isn’t too unlike
Driving home through night fog, living a life.
It isn’t too unlike a life,
Driving home through night fog. You can say it
Both ways. You still can’t see too far ahead.


Driving Home through Night Fog, by John Fandel