people are turning around more,
making U-turns on highways,
on shady streets
they leave stores, bars, houses
then go back in, their gestures summoning
the momentary purity of the temporal world
this suddenness of separation--
what's going on, really?
a narrator losing his thought,
a lover his stroke,
a driver going back
it's not momentum he's risking
but the chance to keep his line straight
(so important to those following)
i worry as i turn around myself
nothing's as it seems anymore,
then, feeling the wingbeat happiness of recall
i seem it all