Driving back from a weekend away, I noted the way that New York was shrouded in fog. I could have been forgiven for believing there was no city there at all. It reminded me of the way I've thought of this city for much of the last year. I don't leave my little corner anymore. For all I know, none of it remains beyond that which is in front of my nose. As I drove, I composed a bit of a poem in my head. Later on, I tried to remember it, and it became this song.
Through the fog of no city
I regard it
Like a child straying far from home
Like whisper in the dome