Climatic Fear

That fresh free flow –
where does it go? At first,
your light illumines prettily –

refracted in the careful soft
deployment of a fog – alluring,
no impediment to nearing it –

so here I come –
and there it isn’t anymore.
Or if it is, it has exploded

into self-excited brash display
past any prospect
of exoneration: baring every

pimple, wart and pore –
at war: as though the unrefracted
force of a determined

fogless ugliness could possibly
disguise the truth in your wide
unrequited eyes – their terror

and deep beauty: tortured by
the error of believing
it’s your human duty

to bare every molecule –
as if you could! –
or else devise a guise

that makes you disappear –
as if you could!
Climatic fear. Blare, my dear,

or vanish though you may,
my heart ransacks you gently
and completely anyway.

.