I understand—the NO ONE CARES billboard
looms over the exit ramp; Nancy has lost her place
in her novel for the umpteenth time; the Lab
has dysplasia.

My mother’s been dead for three months.
I don’t know where she is now or how she got there.
I’ve heard all kinds of conjecture, and some
I believe. But firsthand experience comes last.

Why should I want to return
to a time where even when I occupied that time
I wanted to go back to another time

A tiny blemish where the sun-
glasses touch his cheek. It will fade.
From the corner of each eye, uneven notches