I had wild dreams last night,
my brain writing journal all night long,
so that this morning, while reading, I’m thinking
of so many things, I can’t concentrate
on what’s in front of me,
disparate thoughts about getting older,
con-men I’ve known,
never having stopped loving someone,
Albuquerque and Emily Dickinson,
Cuba and hibernating bears,
the movie Get Out, how truly frightening,
Don Quixote, Dulcinea,
Sancho Panza, the semicolon, and Scotland,
candy I loved as a child,
teaching English to high school juniors,
boiling water and Le Festival in Chicago,
the smell of warm leather,
the Appointment at Samara, as told by Somerset Maugham . . .
My mind has me everywhere this morning.
This morning it would be so easy for Death to find me.