Driving down 68 today the old van rose up a few feet and flew into a windless corridor and only then did I realize it had something to do with you. 

 

It was similar to driving down the road but the fact that the tires were not touching the ground sort of got my attention. 

 

I floated by Daylight Donuts and Supersaver.  I soundlessly whooshed by ABC Locksmiths and Wendy’s and on my left, the friendly Ramada Inn – w/massage.

 

The most skeptical looking 4 x 4’s, the black double-cabbed ones with intimidating, tinted windshields, the most judgmental scratchless Cherokees, the most bouncer-like Broncos passed without comment.  It wasn’t until I passed Raley’s that it dawned on me that other drivers weren’t having the same aerial experience.

 

Then I remembered your hand stretched out and how it seemed that you were offering me your life.  And the poised-tear moment that that was, positioned itself in a throbbing place I had not known before as if it were some rare nocturnal mammal uncharacteristically showing itself by day in midtown looking in the windows of the shops  like a tourist. 

 

No, it was an ascension. 

 

My skin reached toward you like the barnacle beings that emerge like flesh lightning to hunt as soon as they feel the submersion of the wave.   Gladness like helium beneath the rubber of the van tires.  That someone had seen me while unselfconsciously turning in myself, as perhaps an uncle might come upon a niece in the front yard, dreaming herself in the final round of the Olympics, arched with drama, doubtless as a hawk.  And loved the girl and her dream as one being.  And without realizing it, vowed to protect her with his life.

 

At Jack Wrappit the wheels eased on downward and took on the smooth traction of the highway.  Though the feeling of being held in love remained, oh soft-footed, swirl-headed embrace, it was permeated now with a sonic mortgage company and soon after an ad for the Coast Guard, via KTAO Solar Radio.

 

I get smaller by the day, my fat renders into the ash of regret.  My bones thrive and breathe sage.  Now that the van is roadworthy, I could turn around and go home.  Turning into Walmart I wondered how so many people had time to shop on a mid morning work day.  Doesn’t anyone work?  And I could do not one thing else but sin if I did partake of this unholy Big Box of merchandise.  Steal from the worthy with their small businesses, help rape the great plains and jungles of Asia , pollute the empty words of the Buddhists by way of cowboy Darwins with fiber optic bullwhips between their teeth.  And yet I needed, deeply needed, mitochondriacally needed a Snickers bar.   Ignominy comes in such a small package.  And yet this craven craving had to do with love.  A loin cloth for its sweet catastrophe, an apostrophe of the soul, a piñon nut stuck in the molar of a cumulous cupid. 

 

So I entered the double door of bad choices.  Was greeted by the Republican retiree, with mens wear on my right and  and shielded my eyes from all else but my high fructose intention.

       

And as I bit into the industrially faked chocolate and suspended peanuts, I immediately regretted it.  How much easier it would have been to just drive home and think of you.

 

 

 

--August 31, year unremembered