Step out the frontdoor
like a ghost
into a fog
where no one notices the contrast
of white-on-white

In between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference
between wrong and right.

I walk the air
between the rain
and through myself
and back again
Where?
I don't know.

The girl says she's dying
through the door,
I hear her crying, why?
I,
I don't know.