Maneuvers

Head bent to task is simple.
Tiptoe through the travail, filmy
contrails of maybe rise like rain.
Mist leaves the pavement, fogs
the street with misperception.

You move me.
No one else dreams
our little disturbances
that ripple to serenity
in spite of the flaws,
the carried past.

Now is where today swallows
me in 1,000 contradictions,
the light and shadow gray
until we are mist, imperceptible
silver padding into the twilight
of reason, deepening from logic
to cat-footed maneuvers.