I Go Back To The House For A Book
I turn around on the gravel and go back to the house for a book, something to read at
the doctor’s office, and while I am inside, running the finger of inquisition along a shelf,
another me that did not bother to go back to the house for a book heads out on his
own, rolls down the driveway, and swings left toward town, a ghost in his ghost car,
another knot in the string of time, a good three minutes ahead of me — a spacing
that will now continue for the rest of my life.