You look down the road
& don’t remember the car
that doesn’t come.
You still don’t remember.
Birds scatter.
Naked field.
Dead skin.
Shed feathers.
Less weight to manage.
Something about corrupted cells,
Last Days & terrifying dreams
though what can be recollected
cannot be terrifying.
Nonetheless, you say.
You still don’t remember.
Even though that’s not what I said
you say, you still don’t.
Something about wild fire,
a horse named Spook & white eyes,
dead milk, if milk can be dead.
You are in the field, you are in the field,
as I was there.
