I wish the earth would become

shrouded in a fog

that matches mine.

I’m wrapped in it. 

You’re wrapped in it.

We’re all wrapped up,

bumping recklessly into each other,

unable to see clearly

through the murky haze. 


Then, fleeting moments of human contact-

A hand brushing mine,

a foot grazes yours,

someone’s back pressed firmly

against an unfamiliar body.

But we wouldn’t care.

There is no comfort zone.

Because, in this dark mist

we’d be touched

and understood

and felt with reciprocity.


Shadows pass before us

And behind us

Shadows everywhere. 

            We would reach out

and grasp for someone, anyone.

Helplessly, hopefully,

We’d grab onto someone

equally desperate to not let go. 

There’d be empathy.

We would understand

The repercussions when:

He eschewed her,

she demasculinized him,

they bullied a boy

who then hung himself

 in the closet of his bedroom.

And finally,

you would understand me. 

Him and her and them and we -

together, in the loneliness

that cloaks us. 


If the earth were shrouded in

The fog that matches mine,

Your neighbor could be

fat or skinny,

beautiful or pimply,

black or white,

gay or straight

left or right;

With the mantle of mist,

we’d all be just as desperate

to have someone to hold and

those trifles wouldn’t matter anymore. 


Extremes would die. 

The frenzy for approval. 

Would silence exclusivity –

Someone might be listening. 

And the listeners could be friends,

if only we could find them.

If only we could reach out

and touch them.

If only we could have

more moments of fleeting contact

where a heartbeat could be heard 

above the deafening darkness.

We’d hold each other,

afraid to let go

and listen to the heartbeat.



If only the world were shrouded,

the class divide would falter. 

Rich and poor-

the lines would blur.

Because a diamond won’t sparkle

if there is no sun. 

It won’t grab your hand

and lead you out of despair. 

No. In wealth,

You’d only find the same 

maddening darkness that envelops me. 

If the fog would come


you’d understand me.


Our new misty world

would quickly learn

hatred was not the solution. 

It was never the solution.

The shadows would spin our heads. 

We’d clutch and claw

For some semblance of normalcy. 

We’d find it in each other. 

We’d feel it in each other’s hands,

in the warmth of human touch. 

We’d find saneness

in the fold of each other’s arms;

in the caress of a hand.

Euphoria would come

with reciprocal love. 

A.D. Hurley

A.D. Hurley lives in the scenic mountains of North Georgia, with her large brood of children, a fantastically domesticated husband, and two dogs.  She is a poet, writer, associate editor for Ariel Chart Literary Journal, and artistic photographer. Her poetry, prose, and photography can be found in zines like Anti-Heroin Chic, Horror, Sleaze, and Trash, Ariel Chart, Spirit Wind Poetry Gallery, Wayward Sword, and other internationally published literary journals and anthologies.  
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