Encounter

Time parted fog that concealed the night,
moving as a mouse will move
though a silent house
in quiet rushes.

And you there stood staring.
There were no lights,
only bluish fog on an asphalt road.

Someone played a trumpet in his sleep.

It was that cat we had found before
with the yellow eyes at the wire fence,
the fence you thought could wipe out our shadow.

The mouse scurried once. Not long. You saw.
The asphalt narrowed and, then, was gone.
The trumpet is stilled and you start to cry.

Rain, just a name, fills and blinds your eyes.