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| Never lost. jo'b |
I love to get things in the garage
where the UPS driver leaves them—
books, vintage Carhartts, poems—
sacred stuff I keep to myself,
except for a few old friends,
in this uncertain season.
I also love a good storm
when everything stops,
snowbound and out of touch,
the road drifted shut,
snowshoe weather,
a welcome peace, except
now for the satellite-cluttered sky,
now for what we all carry,
now for the watchers.
These few uncultivated acres—
I always figured if I kept them safe,
if I kept them truthful,
if I kept them simply mine,
I could go wherever I wanted
and never be lost, living a tranquil life
in its final chapters, embracing naivete´,
oblivious to the algo.
I was wrong.
Heed the call.
