In a heavy
oblique
and slow-
motion
pileup of
moments this morning—I first happened
to pause pumping
quick gas
in order—to let
the dead
hot words—"In the sun I
feel
as one"—enter my cold conscious
awareness
from their usual provenance
of a far faint loud-
speaker. And then—regarding myself
standing there
hood-shaded
and dark
under the green and white
cover of that speaker's
antecedent derelict
PB gas
station pavilion—started at-once authorizing myself
recklessly—to wonder
how is it even
possible? I've been
driving—since the stock 1990's!
so many
remakes—of
the same stubborn vehicle?
and—but
to so many
disparate places?
