When young "What Am I Doing Here?"
is a question about life's meaning.
Now it is desire to know
why I came to the storage room.
The squeaking car door has
faded into the fog.
Standing, looking off
into space brings rest
but no hint of task.
Rather than get caught staring ,
I return to where I was,
if I can remember where that was.
Three trips from house
to study to get stamps is
about par.
But, I do stop to read the paper
and check e-mail.
Random behavior as if sailing with out a map
or stars.
A sailor lost in the fog
with a strong desire to be on course.
Yesterday's resolve causes no shame
as both the task and the commitment are gone.
Gossip becomes a chore
when you can remember neither what happened
nor to whom.
Friends of yesterday are like wanted posters
with clear pictures and no caption.
And like watching a city disappear in and out
of fog, a name is there and then gone.
And hours later as if moved by a sea breeze
the name is added to the picture.
Only to forget why the name
and face were to be recalled.
Watching the fog roll in over the city
is a comfort
as I know the city is still there
in that temporary fog.