Incandescent

At some point I decided, while cowering 
at the might of the dark storm from the safety 
of a well-lit, warm, and whitewashed indoor shelter, 
that I would go to the Old Port of Montreal
if the rain stopped before the dawn arrived. 
And a few hours later, when I at last looked up 
from the last word on the last page of the novel, 
I saw that the rain had stopped while I was reading. 
I could surely make it in time if I hurried. 
After putting on my freshest clothes — 
at least, the freshest clothes I had on hand — 
I left my studio apartment and headed toward 
the streets and alleys forbidden from myself.