morning fog veils building peaks
and we cross the street despite
the taxis
working from darkness to darkness
venturing out into afternoon sunlight
feels like the state between dreaming
and awake
tourists impede pedestrian traffic
we twist one scarf around our necks
with hands clasped we're like two gifts
in ribbon
too quickly the lunch hour passes
there are no windows in our office
look around-- it's a solemn masoleum
of goals
bags get heavier the longer they're held
to our myopic eyes the lamplight slurs
we miss the details for shiny circles with
hazy edges
but we can see the essence of everything
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