I am not lost. I know where I am,
at the intersection of now and then
where my body has been deposited
between a mailbox and a fire hydrant
in front of a diner’s gaudy facade.
We always wake up where we are.
Image above (and on front-page mastheads): “Passion” by Kathy Thaden.
Words above: by Ken Arnold, from his poem “Intersected.”